I’m sort of piecing things back together. Getting back to my usual routines, taking care of business, crying over The Tale of Despereaux and then laughing hysterically at lines like “Despereaux was filled with an icky feeling of despair.” Because that’s what it is. Icky. When you feel like that. The weather has gone from wiltingly hot to pleasantly cool to rainy since Friday.
There’s also always processing to do after you see out-of-town friends. You fold your laundry and think about personalities interacting and changes and continuity.
It seems like whenever I get the urge to get rid of stuff and pare down, something comes along that requires me to acquire more. Why is that? And why can’t the apartment have just one more closet?
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June 1, 2005 at 3:36 am
tuckova
when i moved, i took photographs of all the things i had saved for sentimental purposes. then i either sold them or gave them away or trashed them.
photos take up less space. eleven years on, i only regret the loss of a few of those things (specifically books, which is a little stupid, because i can get new ones, but –for example– i had all of jane yolen’s books signed by the author and i sold them, that’s kind of owie now).
but music boxes, ceramic stuff i’d made that was cracked in the middle, etc.? the photo holds the memory just fine.
June 1, 2005 at 10:32 am
jess
That’s a good idea.