Wrap It All Up in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Oy. The stuff I’m finding as I clean out my desk drawers and closets and files and storage. I’m a sentimental person to begin with. This is memory overload!! This moving business is very hard on the old emotions.

It’s slow going for me when it comes to going through all of my stuff. I sift and sort and have to relive each event with every photograph I find or every piece of notebook paper with something scrawled on it. I try to throw stuff away. Stuff I’ll never ever need in a million years. But I’m having so much trouble tossing even the most seemingly insignificant scrap. Can you believe that I’ve hauled certain love letters across two countries and four states and through about 10 moves?

I wish I could just let go. Let go of all this excess baggage. Start over from scratch. I don’t need those letters. I don’t need those goofy trinkets and funny photos. The silly giraffe collection (deserving of an entry). The poem I wrote in the second grade. The sheet music. The scraps of fabric. The wine bottle labels. The university newsrag. The maps of foreign countries. I don’t need reminders of days gone by.

Do I?

What the hell. It’s a free move. Might as well move to yet another state with love letters and photos and scraps in tow. I may need them after all. It might be a long, cold, lonely winter.

Listen to me! What’s gotten into me?

I guess part of it is the fact that I’m starting to get more than a little mushy about Super T. And I think it shows. And I guess the realization that nothing’s going to come of this when I move. That another one is going to bite the dust and I’ll be left by myself in a strange and unfamiliar place.

And I’m realizing that maybe I didn’t appreciate my friends as much as I should have while I had them at my fingertips. I read back a few entries. I described a lot of my friends as flaky and superficial. But one by one, as they find out that I’m leaving, they are coming to me in their own special way and telling me how much they love me and will miss me. Some of the outpourings are just blowing my mind.

And I’m not going to have the luxury of Mom and Dad. Pretty much at my beck and call. They would say that’s what parents are for. But mine. Oh how I love them. How I love them just an hour drive away. Close enough to get there at the drop of a hat. Far enough to give me fair warning.

And I guess I’m being a bit of a sappy, emotional chick right now.

So I will let the movers pack them all up. Three boxes. My boxes of tiny treasures that mean so much to only me. My security boxes. And I may never even need to open the boxes until the next time I move. It’s just nice to know they’re there.