Unpacking to Begin

So sad this unpacking. So sad and deliciously misunderstood.

Took me over 2 weeks to be reunited with my stuff. Really, I haven't seen any of it since mid-May, but I didn't expect to. The Moving Experts weren't so expert in their on time delivery. But little to the point. Unpacking. Sad. Just as any unpacking or packing can be. Reverting through all of the old things...o o O how you read this and think: "Yes, I've packed and unpacked, yes it's sad, yes looking at all of the old pictures, mementos, STUFF, yes yes yes..." and so I rest my case.

New city. New life.

What gets me is that I didn't take anyone I knew. I only took my stuff. Does this mean that all of my people are really this stuff? Is that sad or enlightening? Both, perhaps? You tell me.

And my dependence upon material items is not sad. I don't own anything specific. Or rather, I don't own anything that anyone would want. I own memories of my life. Who would want that but me? It's not worth anything. Museums can't charge admission to see it. So what is all of this stuff?

It is the unraveled me. If I could stretch my intestines for miles and add my heart and mind into the center along with a few metacarpals, you'd have me made up on paper. If a butcher were so kind to lend me his services on both fronts.

The feeling of liberation was so strong. For months, nothing. No stuff. Just me, my car, 2 bags of clothes and my laptop. And that tent. That evil evil tent.

And now. Liberation? I've lived without these 14 boxes of books, couch, desk, bed, table and wine fridges (ok, the wine fridges are important) for well over 3 months now. And I felt no desire of need for them. Nothing. And yet here they all are. What do I do with them now?

There was a moment a week ago where I could have lived with nothing but this computer. And then, once I begin making contact with others, this computer would become null and void. So I needed only a bag of clothes and a place to lay down. This is so hobo, yes, and romanticized, yes, and deeply deeply cliched, but it was the truth. I had nothing but that. And yet I still breathed. And ate. And loved. So really - what's with all this stuff?

Unpacking my mind is easier to do than unpacking 3 month old boxes.