Moving mountains

It’s Friday.

Wow.

Thought it would never come.

Now it’s here and I don’t know what to do with it.

I need to pack up my things for moving, finish wrapping christmas presents, clean the litter box, do laundry, pack up the things…I said that.

You know what that means, though, right? A zillion piles of STUFF everywhere, divided into 3 parts:

–Once Precious Enough To Not Leave Behind But Now Part Of A Former Life

–Once Precious But No Longer Truly Useful Or Usable

–Precious And Coming With Me

OK, no, more than 3 parts. Because there are a lot of hazy areas.

What do I do with the stuff that I want to keep but have no room for? Mom probably won’t let me keep it at her house unless I tell her she can have it, and I’m terrified to keep some of it in storage too much longer or I’ll forget how to use em. (Examples: battered blue dresser that I painted myself but is falling apart, computer desk, boxes and boxes of art supplies)

Stuff also collects in the moving process that I should probably throw away but I can’t bear to, but I know that in six months I’ll probably throw it away anyway so why even move it? (photos from the Good Old Days, clothes I never wear but just might next month, Skinny Clothes, stuffed animals, pictures of my former puppy dog, old kitty collars for the babies, posters I used to love but now don’t seem to look right)

Stuff lines the bottom of kitchen/bathroom/bedroom/desk drawers everywhere that I shouldn’t throw away because it’s a perfectly good _____, but I haven’t used it in a year, or more, and I may not ever use it but why throw it away when I’m probably going to have to go buy a new one later anyway? (Paper clips, tacks, pretty rocks and shells, hair ties, pads of black gel-ink paper)

Stuff also exists, though in a smaller amount, that I am guilted into keeping. Stuff that was Mama’s/Grandma’s/from a relative/friend that I don’t or won’t use, but I don’t throw it away because, well, Mama gave it to me. These things usually end up getting thrown away.

That last class of stuff reminds me of a ruby-red cross necklace of Great Aunt Virginia’s that I somehow threw away many many years ago, when we were living in Arkansas and visiting Aunt Cathy’s house over the barn. I was around 4-6 years old, I think, and I knew it was in the trash bin, but I didn’t say anything, terrified of getting scolded for throwing something so “valuable” away. Now I think Mama said it was costume jewelry, but I still feel guilt over it. I stared at the trash bin and avoided it, and danced around it all that day until the trash was taken out, and I knew it was gone. Dumb kid. It’s not like Mama would have hung me or anything. But I have an aversion to throwing stuff from family members away. I keep old Christmas cards, letters, photos, everything. Because they mean something to me.

So this moving thing will be toughtoughtough. Wish me luck.