Those of you who also read tugrik’s journal know that this weekend is the appointed house-cleaning. I’m starting to go through boxes in the garage, ones that have been out there since I moved in. I haven’t been able to get to them easily for over a year now, as they performed “box attraction magic” in the way all piles of boxes do.
Poking through, just the little I have so far, I’ve realized a few things:
- I had a lot more stuff in my house than I’d thought—not junk, but the little knick-knacks and wall hangings and the like that give a place a bit of character. It will surprise no one who knows me that my knick-knacks tended to have something of a Southwestern feel. (Actually, a lot of the place did, as much as I could manage.)
- Speaking of not junk, I’m realizing that, well, what I brought with me is, in fact, not junk. I went through this same triage process before I moved out here. Some of it isn’t useful to me currently, or is stuff I don’t have space to do anything with, because I’m living in a household rather than living on my own.
- Thanks to Tugrik I’m spoiled and would rather have one Caphalon saucepan than a half-dozen Teflon-coated pans now, so some stuff will get tossed after all. There are also some pieces of furniture I inexplicably brought with me that will make their way out to the dumpster. (If anyone wants an unbuilt cheap bookshelf unit, still in box, it’s yours for the taking.)
- The main place where I’m going to be able to triage stuff is likely the spare room, that has the detritus that I’ve accumulated since I’ve been here. And another round through the bedroom won’t hurt.
These thoughts bring up all sorts of other tangential thoughts: what my original plans were when I moved out here, good things about the way things actually played out, continuing uncertainties about the future.
But mental housecleaning is another post. Off to see if I can figure out how to get stuff out of the garage, as the door doesn’t seem to want to open…