it is the packing, ive determined, that is the worst part of moving. putting all your shit together. the entire clutter of you.
but then - shit. unpacking.
the noisy disorder of my life sprawled out on a messy apartment floor.
the memories - all which is sentimental. these meaningless things. objects with no significance other than some strange attachment to my history.
i got crap, junk, faded mementos sitting on shelves. drawings from friends ill never see again, scribbled while high on meth. gifts from girls i never want to talk to. containers filled with mysteries ill have to figure out.
cigar boxes. little wooden contraptions. cardboard boxes still taped up.
and shoe boxes. shoe boxes. shoe boxes stuffed with what? bills long paid or long overdue. ancient musings on scraps of paper. old cassettes that have no labeling. letters from ex girlfriends i dont even know anymore.
it is a daunting task, but its easier than packing.
it is unpacking. cleansing. a modern purification. right?