We are all Hoarders. Memories count.
the day has come, we have to move out. Seven years in a place, with plenty of storage, and a garage we vowed to clean out the day we moved in. Instead, we just kept piling crap in. Or scabs of life. Mementos of it, anyways.
But moving day is the day of reckoning. You go through shelves and closets and wonder "Why the Fuck did I keep this"? Why did I buy this in the first place?
Some of what you find makes you sit down and reminisce. You never meant to throw it away, yet you also never knew where it went. Something significant, probably related to the birth of your first child. The wrist band from the hospital. The first onesie. Hopefully not the placenta or meconium.
But most of what you discover, going through the strata of you overvalued existence, is just garbage. Someone might find it useful. We will have a garage sale. One person's garbage is another person's treasure. Or whatever Hoarders tell themselves to feel better.
Yet, as I shed items that once seemed to hold too much significance to dump right away, little trinkets are brought to the light of day that warp you back to a different time. A time when life was offering all sorts of hope: The company you had worked for most of your adult life hadn't gone bankrupt yet; The pants you recently tried on, and almost got a hernia when attempting to close the waistband of still fit; Ideas you wrote down, thinking they would change the world, made sense.
Items that encapsulated your idealism to try new things, or learn a language. Maybe pick up tap dancing. Or sow your own clothes.
Heavy hearted you become the arbiter of which memory is worthwhile keeping and what is just garbage.
Each decision what to keep and what to shed whittles on your resolve to start fresh when moving into your new place. Are things going to change, get better even? Is it all just an ever revolving cycle of hope and disappointment? You know, without sadness there can't be happiness? Here, have another sip of beer and keep going. Moving day is coming.
Better sit down and write.
Moving day is coming.
But we are all Hoarders, one way or another.