24. ShredFest

I awoke early the following morning scared and completely mortified by yesterday's fit. I should have just left everything in the trash and not worried about it; I mean what really are the chances of identity theft from one’s own home trashcan? But what I did was sound, if not crazy. At least I took care of it. But the scariest part was that I had felt like I was not in control of myself; that I had to return all of that paperwork to the attic, or something terrible would have happened.
And somehow things felt unfinished; the boxes upstairs still called to me, but I was not sure why.

During breakfast I watched the news. Everything in town was still closed, and the newsmen were still encouraging people to stay off the roads. I texted Thad, “Roads still bad, so still no driving. You okay?” but I did not hear back from him immediately. He and Bettina were probably working on limbo lessons or practicing their bird calls or something likewise as neato and cool.   

To occupy myself I worked on my research book and caught-up on some e-mails. Besides teaching three classes, working on a book, and being on a number of stupid committees, I also was chairing two doctoral students’ committees. Both were rather idiots, and Americanist and a Victorian, and both required exorbitant amounts of attention. Thank God for e-mail, as a short message usually meant I wouldn’t have to talk to them for 2-3 more days.  

I got an e-mail from my bank about an upcoming interest special. Just as I went to delete it, I noticed at the bottom the heading: ShredFest.’ Apparently my bank was offering the service of a shredding company: “Bring bags of your personal files in and we’ll shred them-for free!” The ShredFest wasn’t for a few weeks, but suddenly-like a the sun through the clouds- I saw an end to my angst over the attic paperwork! I would just take it all to the bank and have them destroy it! Perfect! And this way I could also get rid of all my business papers,  as I knew initially I could just not chuck any of those out with the trash. I reread the e-mail and then laughed out loud. This was exactly the ending I needed to rectify my insanity from yesterday. And Thad would never have to know about my episode at all.

Within the hour I was up in the attic reorganizing again. I first went through all of the School boxes, this time pulling out all metal coils from the spiral bound notebooks and the braided 3-hole punch pages from notebooks, as the ShredFest instructions said ‘staples and paperclips are fine, but no larger metals.’ This took a good two hours, and got me up to lunch.

I went back down to eat and Thad called.

“Hey! What you doing?”

“Nothing.” I was afraid he would figure out my craziness from yesterday, be able to smell it on me, and mock me for it.  

“You okay? You sound weird.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I rose quickly and began to pace. I told him about preparing things to take to ShredFest.
“Well, good for you.” Thad said, “has it been hard?”

“No. No, not at all,” I lied like a rug.  

“That’s great. I’m very proud of you.”

“And see I’m not a hoarder!” I spit out a bit too abruptly.

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” He laughed.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, we’ll see.” He said again, and then changed the subject to talk about all the fun he and Bettina had planned for the day. I frowned as he told of the snowy walk they had planned and then the big casserole she was putting in the oven for lunch, and I heard her laughing and laughing in the background, and it just burned my butt. 

“I want you to come home,” I blurted out.

“Well, me too, as long as you don’t act like that.”

We were silent for a second.

“Look, I have to go,” I said, “I have to get back up to the attic. You have a good day and call me later.”

“Bye bye,” he said coolly.

Frowning, I stomped back upstairs, Charlotte Brontë skittering to get out of my  way.  

I had decided I only needed to keep the last seven years of my financial notes, so I only had about eighteen years of receipt and pay stubs to go through. This equaled four big Business boxes, but they were much easier to go though, as they had less sentimental value. I did find my first pay stub from the University and the receipt from the first hotel Thad and I ever stayed in back in 1995, but none of these elicited the same level of crazy hoarding passion all of the school notes did. I simply unboxed everything, looked at it all, and then reboxed it all. This process was cathartic, as handling everything one last time made it easier for me to send them off to be destroyed; I had said my goodbye.  

By dusk I had settled the four Business boxes next to the seven School boxes, for a total of eleven boxes bound for ShredFest.

Back downstairs I called Thad but he did not answer. I watched the weather. The roads were to be drivable by tomorrow: I could finally see him-after four days! I called him again to tell him this, and he again didn’t answer. Frowning, I went to make dinner, assuming he was just busy with his bestest best gal pal Bettina.

Somewhere around 7 o’clock, still not having heard back from him, a thought crossed my mind: I had all of the paperwork for ShredFest in big boxes, and those would be heavy and cumbersome to carry down from the attic and out through the house, and then out to the car, to then deliver to ShredFest. What would make more sense would be to divide the contents of the big boxes into a number of smaller boxes, as those would be easier to maneuver. And I happened to have many small boxes up in the attic.

I mulled this for about fifteen minutes, with that same scary feeling of uncontrollable compulsion I had yesterday, before I just gave in and ran back up to the attic.

 I spent the next hour unboxing the eleven big boxes and putting everything into smaller boxes. By the time I was done, I now had thirty-three smaller boxes, all sealed and ready to be removed.   

Leaving the attic, I had a feeling of accomplishment. The project was finally over, and for that I was pleased.

Back in the chilly Den, I called Thad again; and still no answer. I ate brownies and wondered if he was dead, drunk driving into a lake, as Bettina laughed and urged him on, “Drive faster Thad! Faster!” I hated Bettina.

And then as I watched stupid TV it occurred to me. The ShredFest e-mail had said “Bring bags of your personal files in and we’ll shred them-for free!” Bags. And I had a flash that if I showed-up with all of my paperwork in boxes that I would have to unbox everything there out in the parking lot behind the bank, as their shredder could not handle boxes, and during that transfer paperwork could whirl away in the Oklahoma wind, and my identity could be lost just as easily as if I had thrown everything out in the trash myself!

And this thought brought the crazy compulsion back like the roar of the wind outside. I tried to work myself down, to tell myself it was no big deal that it would be fine; but I knew what I was eventually going to do, I just didn’t want to give into it again. I was afraid by succumbing to this latest fear it would prove that I was not just a hoarder, but indeed, just flat fucking insane.

I just wanted Thad to call; that would call me down.

I called him again; again no answer.

Twenty minutes later I was back in the attic, feeling like a unfettered mental patient. Frantically I began to unbox the thirty-three smaller boxes and move everything into plastic Wal-Mart bags I had drug upstairs with me. I muttered as I worked, “It’ll  be alright. This is it. This is the end. You are not crazy. You are just thorough. You are just following directions. Bags not boxes. They need bags not boxes.”

In the midst of my progress, the phone rang and I dashed downstairs to get it.

 “Hello,” Becky said.

“Oh, hi,” I muttered, vastly disappointed.

“Don’t sound too happy to hear from me. I was just calling to check on you. You okay?”

“No. No, I’m not.” I said. “I haven’t heard from Thad in about six hours and I’ve got this project where I threw a bunch of paper out of the attic window, but then I got all paranoid and just brought it all back in and carried it right back upstairs. And then I decided I needed to move everything from big boxes to little boxes, and I already did that but now I’m moving everything from little boxes to bags…”

“Oh, honey!” she said like she had just walked in to find me holding a half-decapitated kitten. I knew she was ashamed of me, as was I. But I also knew she understood the pangs of obsession, oh too well herself.  

“Thad won't call me back and I can’t make it stop,” was all I could say. I did not cry but I wanted to.

Becky cleared her throat and in a steady voice said, “You just need to watch some TV and go to bed. Thad is probably just playing with his friends. I’m sure he’s fine. Just lock the attic and leave it alone. It sounds like you’ve done a good job, but you need to stop now. It will be okay if you stop.”

We were silent for a second, where I heard the sound of the grinding of her teeth.
"It'll be okay, Michael. But you need to stop and start putting yourself to bed."

“Thank you.” It was exactly what I needed to hear. I loved Becky; she knew how to calm me down.

“Drink some warm milk and go to bed.”

“I will. I appreciate it. I just need to get out of this house. Being snowbound is just driving me crazy. I just need people and to see Thad and to go back to work, for the distraction.”

“You go get ready for bed, and you can call me back if you get upset or anything. I'm sure Thad will call you first thing in the morning, okay?”       

“Thanks, Becky. I appreciate it. I’m sorry to be crazy.”

“Don’t say that,” she warned, “You are fine. You’ve just had too much time on your hands, trapped inside. We can all get back out tomorrow, and everything will be better.”

“I can’t wait for that,” I laughed nervously, trying to sound normal. And then, “Oh, why did you call?”

She cleared her throat again. “I decided to take Pablo. I was going to call DHS tomorrow, once their offices are opened back up. I told Mom and Smith earlier. She was thrilled and he called me ‘stupid,’ but I don’t care. It’s what I want to do.”

As all I could feel was love and affection for my sister at that moment, I said, “That’s wonderful. You’ll make a great Mom. I can’t wait to meet the little guy.”

“Thank you Michael. Thank you. That means a lot to me. Call me later if you need me.”

“Thanks. Night.”

“Night,” she said as she hung up.

I went to the attic and finished bagging up the papers, ending up with fifty-seven bags to take to ShredFest. I then put the bags into all the smaller boxes for transport, and it all seemed right and good and that I was now finally, for the last time, done with the project.  

As I came down stairs, it now almost eleven PM, the phone rang again. It was Thad.  
“Hey, sorry,” he said, “Bettina and I were watching some movies and time just slipped by. How are you doing?"
"Good, just getting ready for bed."
We talked for a long time, both thrilled that the roads would be passable tomorrow so we could finally see each other again.

I didn’t tell him about this fit either.