The new apartment has been full for a week. Truck loads have gone away
every day since and still i sit among assorted items, alone.
My mind settles on the phrase " the evils of excess and comfort".
I don't own my things they own me. I have been enslaved to the inanimate objects, an unknowing captive, pinned down by photographs, chastised by clothes, flattered by footwear.
The lamps have lied to me.
Now, only darkness and emptiness soothes the pain.
Tomorrow is the day of reckoning. One last truck load. I'm renting a big truck, again. I want it done.
I come from a long line of collectors, scavengers and deal makers. None of it matters! Trust me, I am not depressed. I stand at the final page of a chapter, I am ready to turn.
But not just yet. Tonight I sit at the old apartment surrounded by boxes and bags and the truly miscellaneous.
Of all the things it is letting go of the books that has been the hardest. They have been my hope ,my escape and my teachers. And then there is the rocks. Why did I start collecting rocks? Ah yes, they told stories and shared different kinds of energy. They taught lessons quickly, how to read and feel history as well as the future... Farewell friends. What I have required I have received. Thank you...