EMPTY SPACE

I live in a both a very full and an extremely empty environment.

My bedroom is stuffed with filing cabinets, wooden boxes, every possible office supplies that could conceivably be used in a home office, enough writing materials for approximately 23,963 full-time professional writers as well as every DVD commercially available for The Office, anything with Nathan Fillon, and all film adaptations of Jane Eyre since Orson Welle's in 1944.

My closet has stacks of school supplies (on sale at Target after school begins for about 10 cents a piece), fourteen yellow and/or green comforters for an area which can brag of the average temperature of 72 degrees year-round, four large plastic containers of shoes randomly purchased because I liked the color/pattern at the time as well as three only partially finished quilts.

I have books that range from LDS Institute Manuals on the New Testament to science fiction as well as Judge Judy's "Beauty Fades But Stupid Is Forever." I owe every color Sharpie every made. I have probably 128 Bic Blue Retractable Pens, and about 995 calling cards with my former phone number on.

But I now have an empty space that I'm not certain how to deal with.

Per my request, my son moved my dog Murray's old Queen-sized mattress into the spare bedroom.

 

Cenophobia is fear of empty space - or the necessity of filling up 'white' space.

I suddenly am overcome with that irrational alarm of insecurity; a place that has always been filled with at least the memory of unconditional love, warm fur and doggy breath, is empty.