Saturday, January 28, 2006

Packing. Again. I was thinking that I've written all there is to write about material things and carrying them from place to place, about how much I keep and how much I lose. I was thinking there is no point in going over it all again. It's depressing and boring. I was wondering why am I here again? Why am I repeating this chore? Why are my hobbies, glue sticks, stickers, pens, paints, dictionaries, photo albums, pinking shears, ribbons, and patterns, all of it, going back in to boxes? Why has most of it remained in boxes in the first place? I have sorted it, and purged it and organized it, but what remains is coming with me. I am packing my stuff again. If I never get to see any of it or do anything with any of it, then it will have been truly pointless. I suppose the urge to keep my things is an indication of hope.

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