I have now been home for exactly ten days. It's still a little weird, but the weird is getting more normal with each passing day.
Number of oranges consumed: 5
Number of trips to the beach: 1
Number of books read: 1
Number of roaches/lizards seen: don't wanna talk about it
I have spent my days working at my mom's office and working through the crap-ton of boxes I left here when I moved to Utah. This is always embarrassing for me to admit, but I was once a hoarder. That composition notebook from Ms. Byrd's second grade class? Got it. That unfortunate self-portrait from fifth grade art class? Check. That book full of love songs and angst from sixth grade? I wish I had burned it.
I thought I had downsized a worthy amount once I left for school. Oh contrary-wise.
I'm only half-way through these boxes of memories and I just want to throw it all out. After a year of living with a minimalistic perspective, it physically pains me to look at all this crap. So, I have made a couple rules:
1. If I have not thought about this item in the past six months, it goes.
2. If I am not for sure going to use this item in the future, it goes.
3. If there is no story worth telling with this item, it goes.
4. If my children will not get any use out of this item if it survives to meet them, it goes.
The little nostalgic pack-rat still lives inside of my head and gives her input every now and then, but for the most part, I have done well in ignoring her. We'll see which of us ends up winning with these next few boxes...
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