Writings from my little corner of modern domesticity.

A Life in Boxes

I’m in the process of sorting through the belongings my parents stored for me when Ryan and I got married and I moved out right now. I figured that since I haven’t seen most of the stuff in a couple of years now, I probably don’t need it. But I realize that there’s a lot of stuff I’ve been just making do without (like my instruments) and a lot of stuff that’s decorative and I don’t have space for right now, and then there’s my books, and things I’ve been saving for my children one day.

And then there’s the pile of crap I saved as mementos. I say “pile of crap” because as I was sorting through stuff yesterday (none of which was really categorized when it was packed up) I threw away about two boxes of stuff I either couldn’t remember the event that went with it or just didn’t care about anymore. I have the feeling this is where a lot of the boxes’ contents will end up.I’m thinking either anything I can’t put on display somehow or paste into a scrapbook is destined for the trash.

It’s probably surprising to some people how much stuff I have, considering how often I’ve moved. But I am a sentimental fool and save every scrap of napkin with an inside joke scribbled on it from a good day at a coffee shop with friends and every toy I’ve ever really loved that wasn’t ruined by my little brother or various pets, and any little bit of anything I might possibly use for craft projects of some sort.So the box count just grew with each move, and now I’m trying to pare down 22 years of boxes (no, really- I’ve got stuff from my very early years still, and not just my Pooh Bear blankie from my crib set, either) before I move again. And now is the time to do it, while I’m still close by and I’ve got the spare time here and there.

There’s a lot of stuff that’s just stuff I don’t want anymore, too, that’s going to be given away or donated if it’s still in good condition. Shoes and purses, some stuffed animals I only kept before because they were from boyfriends, probably some yarn, and who knows what else…I’m not even sure what’s in those boxes in any specific way anymore, truth be told.

Which is why they have to go. I’m not dealing with this too-much-stuff-too-little-space thing after we leave here. It fits or it goes. Period.


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