Type A with a side of B

I visited one of my local haunts yesterday.    It was locked up, but a friend was already inside.  He let us in and wandered around with us.  We talked about the past, the present and naturally, the future.  He expressed a genuine concern regarding my health and was quick to ask if I would be roaming around on a more regular basis.  Sadly, I shook my head and confided the purpose of stopping by.  I wanted to get my personal effects and bring it all home.

I could read his face.  He was disappointed.  He and I had been “regulars” there.  There was always something to do or organize.  This is where I profess my type A personality…  We got my room (406 to be specific) and the lump in my throat began to alert my tear ducts “It’s time.”  The custodians had packed up a lot of my things already; so at first glance it seemed bare.  It was obvious that I hadn’t been there in awhile.

I wouldn’t leave a room like that, ever.  There were empty food containers on desks, a forgotten denim jacket on the back of a chair and empty boxes strewn about.  I made my way to the front book shelves, picking up a box and some of the papers which were left on the floor and turned around.  My whole world, the one where I put in thousands of hours grading, cleaning or organizing was gone.  Poof!

My first instinct was to get started on cleaning up and putting things where they belonged (my judgement).  The Type A in me was making it’s way to the surface.  I can’t focus when the environment is not orderly.  My husband and friend stopped me and reminded me that I wasn’t supposed to be “doing” anything laborious-per my doctors.  I was just supposed to point to what was mine and they would pack it up, transport it to their vehicles and then get it home.  So I did.  They did.  We tried to keep the mood light.  They joked about my “Shakespeare Action Figure.”  I had another one for Poe.  According to the custodian, I have a lot of “dolls” and glitter and pink.

My room was once my place of respite.  The building belonged to me and Michael- if you follow the “possession is 9/10 of the law.”  for 14 years. 

Packing up 14 years of my life is not supposed to look like it did yesterday, it’s supposed to have a nice and clean entrance and exit.  

My trek yesterday was just so sad.  My heart was breaking.  I loved it all once.  The smells, sights, sounds, of the hallway were comforting.  There was nostalgia for each whimsical item in my classroom or at least a story.  I had two homes… one for 90% of my existence and the other home clean, organized and full of heirlooms, nostalgia/stories.  It’s the way I am. Period.

The doctors told me that stress is a huge factor and gets my Adrenal Fatigue all out of control.  They want me to learn how to genuinely relax and loosen up the reins on life.  Ha!

I’m supposed to drop the Type A gig and work on being a B.  Remaining Type A could & has proven to make for a very difficult existence… However,  is being Type B a liscense for being unkempt?  Do B’s care about providing a space for everyone to feel safe (especially in room 406)?  Do B’s notice the little things?  Do they react or just turn away when a rule is broken?  Are they hippies?

My garage now harbors my recently liberated personal effects from room 406.  My husband expects to have his garage back before the first snow of the season.  

I understand where he is coming from, he  doesn’t deserve to have to step over boxes and pick up things that have been strewn about.  Sound familiar?  

Right now I’m processing it all and deciding what should go where.  My Type A will get it all taken care of.  It is just me.  Period.

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