After living in a place for four years things tend to pile up. I knew I had a lot of stuff, but I had no idea that on day three of packing I would still feel like I am just getting started. I have filled 13 boxes, 4 plastic bins, and 6 duffel bags and no, that doesn't include clothes of any sort.
I have to fight my natural tendencies, which are: to look at all my things, read through my notebooks/journals, get sentimental about where things came from...or to put it another way:
I've always been that way and since the trait has lasted for 32 years I imagine I'll always be this way, I just can't help it. I'm easily distracted (for example, I am writing this blog post while I'm supposed to be packing) and easily worn out. When I was little and I was supposed to clean my room I'd spend most of my time closely examining a few choice little items and then spend a minute or two shoving everything I was supposed to clean into backpacks or suitcases or whatever I could find. My bed was flat on the ground so nothing could go under there.
However I don't think my parents would be too pleased with me if they showed up next week only to find I'd hidden things instead of packing them. So, I'm packing. Here's the proof: