Looking For All The Things

“What should I write about?” I lately, as in this very moment, inquired of Matt. He is trying to read the bible or something. I tried that for a minute but started to go right back to sleep. The bible is a wonderful cure for insomnia. But that’s not my problem. My problem is that it’s actually morning, and I actually need to stagger into the day.

“I don’t know,” he said, “my mind is numb from exhaustion.”
And there he has hit the nail on the head. I don’t want to give way to ageism. All isms are bad. But yesterday, watching the four young men we persuaded to move all our junk rush lightly up and down stairs, foist great whacking pianos over their heads, blithely maneuver tables and dressers and all manner of boxes, well, it made me feel old. And I’m going on this morning feeling ancient, each muscle protesting because what I did was, I walked around for the whole day and it almost killed me.

So we’re mostly here with all our stuff. Or rather, we’re here, and most of our stuff is here too. So. Much. Stuff. And believe me, as of 11pm last night, None of it sparked any joy.

What can we be wanting with so much stuff? When I was flinging it all in boxes I knew I ought to take a few moments to throw it all away. That would have been a really good way to deal with uprooting one’s household and moving across town (or rather, halfway across town). But the thing is, how can any of us know the future? How can we know what we’ll need? How can we possibly know how anything will fit? I am not vast enough in my knowledge to make purging decisions until I’ve boxed everything up, mixed up all the boxes, and then opened them again. When you open a box, suddenly, without taking time to prepare yourself mentally, the shock of it clears your mind and you know immediately what to throw away. That’s my theory anyway.

Today I’m going to spend part of the day back at the old house, which Elphine is now calling Princess Di, and the rest of the day here at the new house, which she is calling Princess Kate. I feel pretty uncomfortable about this designation of hers, but I’m too tired to know whence ariseth the error. Feel she is being cheeky in all the wrong ways. Anyway, she is asleep in her own room with her own enormous dysfunctional cat, so that’s pretty awesome. And I am going to go rummage in boxes looking for my toothbrush. That is one thing I will try very hard not to throw away.

Imagine this, filled with boxes.