Well, that's (almost) over. A few items were "distributed" to friends while they were not at home, a pile of stuff went to the curb and mostly disappeared before bedtime, and our Prius is loaded with boxes for the Salvation Army.
Getting rid of stuff drains me. It's an archaeological dig through the strata of my life [cue music]. Unearthing memories that get stuck in each layer is too much and too hard. This morning I'm trying not to picture the things in the boxes; by next week I really won't remember them at all.
Holy cow, did my back hurt last night! I inflated my side of the bed as far as it would go just so I could turn over. It created a precipice in the middle and twice I rolled down it and crushed Annie. Sleep is dangerous.
Now the living room seems gloriously empty! I can stop thinking about how I'll get rid of the stuff I was looking at, because I have.