Why do crowded closets always make me feel itchy?

The prospect of packing up and starting over in a new city is sort of driving me to drink.  Oh, I don't mean drink in a brooding, what in hell am I doing, alone on a Tuesday evening chugging Boone's Farm kind of way.  It's more of a perpetual let's celebrate, cheers to our new beginning, you only live once, who cares if I'm hungover on a weekday, exuberant kind of way.  Having said this, I fear if there was anyone around who was lucid enough to stage an A & E style intervention, now might be the perfect time to do so. 

Today I spent the day packing, sorting and sifting through the vast, herculean piles of paper that have been cunningly lurking in the shadows of our cozy two bedroom abode.  This is proving to be no easy feat.

I'll be the first to admit I have pack-rat tendencies.  I'm a hoarder, pathetically sentimental; to the point where I will keep things that would make a normal human being wonder if there wasn't perhaps something wrong with me.  (I've glued things into scrapbooks that should probably have gone straight into the garbage, but hey, that's how I roll.)

I take a certain comfort in being able to go back and look through items that evoke the past.  When I think of a particular dress or letter, it's nice to be able to find it and pull it out.  That is, if I can actually locate it amongst all of the debris. 

As bad as I am, I've learned how to purge as of late.  Apartment dwelling really helps to facilitate this skill.  I'm trying my best to be ruthless and have decided to only pack those items which I will truly use.  This is decision making time.  For example, is it imperative that I take five hoodies with me to Boston, seeing as I probably wear a hooded sweatshirt maybe a couple of times a year?  I'm giving away four.  (For now at least; nothing has actually been taken to my local thrift shop as of yet.  Said hoodies are dangerously lurking in the hallway as I type, begging me to keep them.)

But honestly, must I hang onto the following?

A wrinkly receipt from the pool bar from our Honeymoon in Aruba.  By 2:21pm we'd already racked up $76.50.  Thank Heaven for all-inclusive libation.  (And thanks to my wonderful in-laws for providing this.)

The list Hubby and I made in 2000 right before we moved to New York, counting the supplies we needed.  Which were, incidentally:

phone

microwave

curtains

food

bathroom stuff

vacuum

tv stand

(Yes, apparently curtains came before food.  We've always been nesters, what can I say?)

My temp agency time sheet from the week of 9/11, noting that the only day I worked that week was Monday the 10th, for Ralph Lauren Womenswear.  Several checklists of things I needed to do before my wedding, scribbled on blue Paxil controlled release tablets paper (this from my years as a server in catering; we hosted a good deal of pharmaceutical parties.)

What is it that makes me unable to toss these things?  Because, if I think about it, that's all they really are- things.  And they're old, make me feel itchy and are taking up space.  And yet...

I'm grateful I taped so many episodes of Roseanne on the DVR.  This has really been my saving grace throughout this tedious organizing process.  Around 5:00 pm I stopped sorting, shut off the tv and decided it was time to take a shower.  I came to this conclusion for two reasons and two reasons alone:

1.) I was filthy

and

2.) Fresh Direct was coming and I needed to go out and get cash so I could tip the delivery guys.

Once clean, I emerged into the humid daylight for a quick trip to the corner quickie mart.  I decided I deserved a treat, having packed and sorted through so much personal history: ice cream.  I would buy myself a pint of Haagen Daas Banana Split.  Only, the object of my desire seemed to be missing from the cooler case.  I dug further.  After all, this wasn't the time for pussyfooting around, this was serious.  I spent a good four minutes digging through the icy case until finally I abandoned my efforts and settled for chocolate.  (So not the flavor I was hoping for but it would just have to do.)

And on that final, hopefully not too wretched note, this packer bids you good night.  xoxo 

Comments

[Sister]

Let's not give people the wrong idea...you aren't one of those crazy people who can't walk through their house because it is covered, floor to ceiling, with trash and stuff. You just save things. But your apartment is clean. We don't want Oprah to think she needs to help you.

[Amy]

Here's my new rule for avoiding the hoarding....if I haven't used it in a year, it gets tossed or donated. works like a charm! good luck packing and make sure you don't accidentally toss out any Harry Potter books,

[The Odd Broad]

Harry Potters are packed! :) Sister, good call- I don't want anyone thinking I'm a slob. When I say I hoard, I'm talking about the stuff jammed inside our closets.

xoxo