miðvikudagur nótt

Just what the title says, yo. There's not much else to it. I'm bored.

It seems like to big moving process of August has just happened, when suddenly, I'm reliving it with exquisite similarity. Things? In boxes, slowly this time. Stuff? Garbaged, recycled, or donated. I am amazed at the amount of stuff I can manage to accumulate mindlessly. I'm a wannabe minimalist. I'm also awesome at parallel parking. Totally unrelated.

So, stuff in boxes. My abode is littered with empty Starbucks cup boxes I snagged from work (legitly) and I've been sitting, legs crossed, sifting through paperwork and knick-knacks deciding what gets to continue living it's tiny life with me, and what gets the axe. A lot stuff I feel like I need, genuinely! I already turfed 90% of my lovely little knick-knack swamped life back in August (which was a heartbreaker), and I'm sort of apprehensive to further rape myself of my identity. Because, really, that's what it is - it's like getting rid of myself. Even if it is for the best to purge myself of clutter, I feel like I'm losing myself more and more, and voiding my past from memory. I have a box of photographs under my bed that I can look at, but that hardly matters when I was so accustomed to being surrounded by life - my life.

I had this big memory board hanging on my wall for the entire duration of my high school life. It was just an ordinary cork board that was probably purchased at Sprawl-Mart for me for my 12th birthday, but it was so much more than that when I looked at it for the last time. It seemed like almost every day I'd add a bit of colour to it. I had napkins from my sister's graduation banquet, Valentines and postcards, dried flowers from opening nights of all the shows I managed, and pictures of the people I loved in photobooths all across the continent all affixed with coloured push pins. Things like that, that reminded me (should I ever forget) of the kinds of things I'd experienced and loved. It eventually became so full of memories that it took over the wall space around it, and was a feature that became a constant source of entertainment and conversation for every visitor to my little nest. My beloved memory board said bye-bye in August, though, when I knew that I had to downsize considerably for my big move. I picked all the best ones off the board and boxed them up, letting the rest of them sail off to the great big landfill in the sky, empty cork board broken and in hot pursuit. And I had never felt so empty - neither had my room.

I guess this is why I'm so unwilling to move again, because I know it just means I have to pick and choose what's worth keeping, which, we've now established, is no easy task. And let's not get misled here: I'm no pack-rat; I just find it très facile to rationalize keeping souvenirs of the past. It helps to envision the future.

And lately, that's all I'm about.