Boxes. I need lots and lots of boxes. Because I have so much stuff in my room, I don’t know what to do with it. Most of it are things I’d like to sell in my garage sale, the one I’ve been meaning to have since… January? Or February? My room has, shall I say, become worse since the night I got home on Wednesday? Remember that my room was rummaged through and ransacked and wrecked while I was away in California. Well, I’ve made desperate attempts to clean things up, but have only seemed to make things messier.
I’ve come to this obvious conclusion: I own too much stuff. But it’s so hard to part with so many of these things. So many childhood memories and sentimental pieces I’ve received from friends and family members. Hand-me-downs and precious items that once belonged to someone I knew when I was growing up, but somehow became mine along the way. Plastic rings and bracelets that could be purchased from one of those ridiculous stuff disspensers with a mere 25 cents. At the time, they were cool! They looked like real pieces of jewelry! And friends would ask me, “Where’d you get that beautiful ring?” And I would tell them proudly, “From the jewelry machine at Godfather’s Pizza!” And the “oh’s” and “ah’s” would follow thereafter.
Books, papers, old birthday cards, letters, art supplies, magazines, and way too many journals. Too many for my own good. Too many for anyone’s own good.
Steph comes home in about four weeks. We’re well overdue for some quality time. I’m looking forward to having her back home. Remember that Steph is the one that brings out a side of me no one else can. Hence why no one quite knows how to respond when they’re in our presence, since we tend to forget anyone else is there. So Steph is coming home and we both lack money and both desire jobs. We’ve decided to hold a “shared” garage sale at her parents’ home. She has things she needs to rid herself of and I have my own stuff… Together, we will hold a garage sale like you’ve never seen in your life.
I’m thinking about what it’ll be like the day I’ll strip my room of everything. The walls bare. The ceiling, completely windchime-less. No bible verses stickied above my bed for me to read as I go to sleep at night. No artwork adjacent to my windows. No picture frames. No music articles or guitars hanging on the wall. Closests empty. A dismembered bed, prepared to be hauled away to its new home; my new home. My room will, in less than three months time, be completely naked and unrecognizable. Kyle will, without a shred of doubt, claim the room his own and his room downstairs will become my parents’ first ever “guest room”.
Boxes. I think their might be some in the garage…