A moving experience
I have reached a point in my life where I want less stuff. I'm moving again and just spent the last week sifting through my meager collection of belongings and distilling it further. Three boxes of books to be sold/donated, three boxes of crap to be shipped to a landfill. four boxes to travel with me. One box to rule them all and in the darkness bind them.
I wish I could get rid of still more. Some of it is pure nostalgia, those things once loved and irreplaceable, and others are things I expect to want in some future time. Its the stuff in the first category that vexes me. The collections of Doonesbury comic strips that I will never sit and read again but remind me of the experience of reading them the first time as a teenager. SF novels and textbooks, characters written for games with loved and absent friends, some of whom are gone from my life forever.
--
Cherie, Esther, Romily... I miss you, and I wish you were not part of the price I paid for my freedom. I have to remember: That was your choice not mine.
I wish I could get rid of still more. Some of it is pure nostalgia, those things once loved and irreplaceable, and others are things I expect to want in some future time. Its the stuff in the first category that vexes me. The collections of Doonesbury comic strips that I will never sit and read again but remind me of the experience of reading them the first time as a teenager. SF novels and textbooks, characters written for games with loved and absent friends, some of whom are gone from my life forever.
--
Cherie, Esther, Romily... I miss you, and I wish you were not part of the price I paid for my freedom. I have to remember: That was your choice not mine.