97. How Do You Get Rid of Things?

Back when I was writing in...prose, I guess-- although that sounds too lofty a term to apply to this thing-- in this blog,  I wrote while we were in an airport about our stuff. How all our things had been cut down to what could fit into a giant backpack and bag full of electronics each. There were times when Megan and I would talk about all our stuff waiting for us in the US wistfully. But now that we're actually back, and all that stuff is staring at us, it's overwhelming. I no longer need all this stuff. I have too many clothes and books and dishes and blankets and toys and...boxes of things that have no use to me. I have boxes that I packed when I moved from North Carolina that have not been unpacked in ten years. There's nothing in them that I need or use, but they are full of the past and feel like a part of me.

That purple velvet is wrapped around all my little dragon figurines.
 They've been that way since 2002.

And as such I find it hard to let them go.

For months in Europe, we were gallivanting

and all we owned would fit in pack and bag.

But now we've all our stuff, and it's enchanting;

we're trapped, ensorcelled by this needless swag.

We've sworn to set about a ruthless Culling

whose sieve of need/not need is woven fine.

But I, while sorting through a box, start mulling

o'er how I need it all, then get some wine.

Old shirts and VHS tapes: easy choices.

They'll go on shelves in some old Thrifty store;

Alas, too many things, in whispered voices,

remind me how I loved them once, Before.

Each thing I choose to offer for donation

pleads silently to stay, in desperation.