Yesterday I helped someone move, hauling boxes and bags down four flights of stairs. Ah, the things we do for those we love. Well, it made me realize two things: A) I hate moving, and B) I have way too much shit. I despise moving so much that I’ve stayed in the same apartment for the past three years and I’m a bit of a packrat. Okay, I’m a huge packrat.
College newspaper that ran an article about me? Cool to save. TWELVE COPIES of said paper? Slightly ridiculous. Keeping to my Personal Renaissance Plan, this afternoon I chucked the eleven superfluous newspapers and tons of other junk that I’ve collected over the years. I closed my eyes and forced myself to get rid of folders and notebooks from college (don’t judge me) and it nearly killed me to toss the flashcards I slaved over for Art History exams. I filled trashbag after trashbag; still, there were a few goofy items that I couldn't bear to throw out. Extra buttons that come with nice clothing, hand-written greeting cards, various art supplies and half-used lipgloss top that list. Okay, so this junkie couldn’t go completely cold turkey, but I made some progress. Baby steps.
Besides being a packrat, I’m also a subscriber to the school of “it has to get worse before it can get better,” and at press time my room was a total disaster area. Oops. Heaven help me (and my feet) if I have to get up in the middle of the night because I’ve created quite the obstacle course between my bed and my bathroom.
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