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Nina In New York: Everything And Nothing Brings Me Joy, Okay?

A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.

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By Nina Pajak

I have a confession to make: Marie Kondo, I hath forsaken thee.

A month or so ago (or was it more? It feels like only yesterday, I swear), I wrote about beginning to overhaul my home and life using the KonMari method of purging all that does not bring me joy. It was going so well! I dove headfirst into the task, banishing any hint of joylessness from my overstuffed closet and bureau. Then I attacked the coat closet. I donated loads of clothing, shoes and outerwear that had ceased serving a purpose for me but which could most certainly continue bringing joy to others. I'd simultaneously done a good deed for others while doing one for myself, too. I showed all my friends who came over my beautiful, new sparsity. I was a whole new person! This was to be a whole new home! Oh, sure, some people threw around terms like "psychotic nesting instinct" and "insanely intense channeling of anxiety and hormones," and "are you okay??" But I was so okay. I was better than okay! I, and several select pockets of my home, were imbued with an unprecedented sense of peace and accomplishment.

And then I got sort of tired.

I'd do more this weekend, I said. Those bathrooms aren't going to purge themselves! These toys are next, I'd threaten. I'm just going to sit down for a minute. Now I'm just going to shut my eyes for a minute. Toddler, you can get yourself a snack, right? Dogs make great babysitters, don't they?

Now I find myself trapped in a state of semi-paralysis all over again, only instead of languishing in a relatively clean home with overcrowded, secretly disastrous closets and cubbies, I am now surrounded by piles and bags halfway destined for the garbage can. I'm getting to it! I swear. Oh, man, I can't live like this. Can't we just sweep it all up and set it on fire or something?

Everyone talks about a pregnant woman's so-called "nesting instinct," but how does that square with her "sleeping" and "sitting" instincts? Do I have to wait for sporadic, unpredictable moments of manic energy to get this done? And how do I manage to have those moments coincide with weekends when we aren't attending four toddler birthday parties in a row? And what happens when I get to the items of personal, sentimental value and I can't help but spend an hour sitting on the floor of a closet and weeping over the teeny, tiny hat my daughter wore home from the hospital? I wouldn't say it brings me joy, but we may have toed over the line into some trickier territory that a roll of garbage bags just can't fix. I toggle between wanting to dispose indiscriminately of every item I've purchased in the last five years and finding myself seized with guilt and all sorts of feelings when confronted with a box of ticket stubs from college or a baggie of assorted bouncy balls my child has been collecting.

Perhaps this isn't the best activity for a person in my position, after all. I'm just going to go sit in my empty closet for a few months and wait this out until the baby comes and I no longer care about living in a state of utter disarray. It's called the PaNina method. Self help book forthcoming, as long as I can find myself some help.

Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!

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