Packing

“Cleaning out the space should be therapeutic.”  I HATE cleaning out a room.  When it is an office you have had for 10 years, it becomes next to impossible.  The only thing worse is later, when you have to go through the boxes and decide what to do with the contents.  I don’t do well with giving away my stuff.  With this recent separation from employer, I have been faced with both dilemmas; cleanout/pack up and redistribution of wealth. 

The packing made me tearful.  All of the memories those items evoked-the laugh of a child, the tears of a parent, real expression of feelings, and families reunited.  The toys still held echoes of the children who used them.  I remember the Dad perched on the floor playing with his son and the dollhouse.  I also remember the stuffed toy sailing across the room, propelled by anger, the markers scribbling in frustration, and the game being flipped over.  All of these are precious memories for me.  How do you pack these up?  What do you wrap them with so they don’t shatter in transport?  Gently, carefully, well cushioned, and tucked right in to the box seems to be the right answer.    Thankfully, with the lid on, the hard part was over.

Or not.  My spouse’s work has a yard sale tomorrow and it seems that some of the things would bring top dollar.  HOLY CRAP.  I just ripped out my heart packing these treasures up, now you want me to rip out my heart so you can sell it at a yard sale?!?!  It is part of the disorder that has led me to this place; parting with concrete, tangible memory-provoking items is too overwhelming.  I go into immediate survival mode; distract, distract, redirect, redirect.  But alas, I am forced to face reality: some of this stuff has got to go today.  I can freak out or I can select items that have the least significance.  Wow, that was the way to go, as I could see the things as items instead of memories.  So I didn’t touch the toys or games.  I shifted an entire carload to the yard sale.  Without tears.  I tried to overdo it though, with the gathering of craft items for a local Girl Scout troop led by a friend.  Ah, well, live and learn.

I think I learned that the memories are not in the items themselves.  However, you cannot change your personality in one sitting.  I like my stuff.  I need my stuff.  Yard sales suck.  Tomorrow we will try again.