Stuffed

Thinking about packing everything up, particularly in this heat, has been making me feel the need to purge and purge quickly. I'm not sure how we accumulate so much junk, but H and I have agreed wholeheartedly that whatever apartment awaits us in Belgium, it will be all the better because it won't be so stuffed. Whatever we pack up and lug back to my hometown will wait out the years ahead of us in my mother's basement, dank and dusty, until we're really settled and have more space. We must get rid, now, of whatever we can possibly bear to part with. Which, I'm afraid, it turns out is not much.

I've started with the desk drawers. We managed to accumulate about 20 highlighters over the years, sets of different colors, fat and still functional. I dumped them all in my work bag and smuggled them into the supply closet at the office. That's right, I've been reduced to pawning my old, personal office supplies on my coworkers, and if I get into trouble, it'll be for putting things in the supply closet rather than stealing from it.

On the same journey into the dark depths of our desk drawers, in between crevices stuffed with old scrap paper and Christmas cards from five years ago, I find something, I think, that we can quickly and easily make a decision on. A sweet, small present from H before my grad school days that's now old, chalky, and hasn't been used in years. Attached to the zipper is a furry monkey key chain. I'm getting rid of it! I say. H just looks at me. But I gave that to you! he says, puppy-eyed and quivery-lipped. It's sweet. It's really for a student, though - I just don't need it anymore. I thought it was a decent, sensitive argument. Suppose you could use it for work in Belgium, he counters. I start to feel guilty about giving away a gift, but even so, I stick to my guns. Must be strong! Too much stuff! Nope, it's going in the get-rid pile. He hangs his head, before mumbling the final, sad request: At least keep the monkey. And so, the knickknack goes back in the desk drawer for another stretch, and I'm left shaking my head at our weaknesses minimalism. This is going to be a hard, mean battle.

The more time passes the harder it is

Because the more time passes the harder it is, exponentially, to begin writing once again after a hiatus, I will spew a few words here to press the reset button, to finally in one confident stroke rip off the band-aid.

I'm sorry it's been so long. I was away, and even though the internet was accessible, I decided to take a break from my blog checking and writing. And so I declare with certainty that I, for one, am not addicted to the internet. I can do without for days on end. I can curl up with a book or a magazine, tuck my feet under me and feel cozy and (almost) totally satisfied with the day's reading material. I have no blackberry, no i-pod, no rectangular, vibrating, hand-sized device that absorbs my attention, and I feel happy that I don't have the need for one.

Or perhaps it's just that my need for abundance and drama has been fed through other channels of my life in the past few weeks. Things are changing. We are unofficially-officially moving to Belgium in late summer, and I'm going two or three times a day to stare at the little squares that mark out the days between then and now, between Philadelphia and something entirely different. The weeks don't seem like enough. There are still places on our list - day trips to do, city restaurants to sample, art galleries to peruse. And I'm looking at the little blank squares and thinking - Will it all fit?