My wife has been watching a show where they clean and organize people's houses, so DW started teaching the rest of the family how to do it. On Sunday, I took the opportunity to toss my temple bag with my temple clothes. They didn't spark joy in me. I didn't even say thank you to them. Good riddance is a better description of what I was thinking. DW doesn't know I did it, and if she ever figures it out, I'll tell her the truth. They brought me no joy.

Going Commando? No. Going Kondo!

I know the feeling.

Felt good to toss the framed Family Proclamation into the fireplace. It burned hot.

I know the feeling too.
There was some satisfaction in throwing those books in the brush pile, spraying them with diesel and lighting it up. Now That sent a pleasing aroma to the heavens.
Messygoop, you say it burned hot. Did you burn the frame too?

Organized Chaos Wrote:
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> I know the feeling too.
> There was some satisfaction in throwing those
> books in the brush pile, spraying them with diesel
> and lighting it up. Now That sent a pleasing aroma
> to the heavens.
> Messygoop, you say it burned hot. Did you burn
> the frame too?

Yes, frame too.

And Marie Kondo's father is a Mormon.

Now that's "cleaning house".

Way to go!!!

"They brought me no joy." Good one! LOL!

It is a good feeling to de-junk all the memories, and keep only the good ones. For all its self-importance and bullying, the cult was just a tiny part of my life, which was mostly great. I kept some of my special clothes, as future Halloween costumes. Imagine, the Mormons intruded with their nasty underwear, underneath every single outfit I ever wore, day and night!

I tossed my garments into the garbage, with the used cat-litter, then made a pot of coffee, and threw the coffee grounds on top of the garments. I stuffed everything into the big garbage can, and rolled it to the curb, and sipped the coffee, while I waited for the garbage truck. It made me feel happy and free to watch the truck roar up to the curb, pick up the can with its arm, and empty the can, giving the arm an extra jerk at the top, so everything came flying out.

It's one of my fondest memories of leaving the cult.