The Sadness

The last few days have been spent packing up the collected material substances of my life. In some ways I don't have much. In other ways I'm surprised how much I have.

My earthly belongings all have been stuffed into one of the following categories:

- Things to take to California

- Things to leave in storage with my parents (thank goodness for their huge garage)

- Things to sell

- Things to give away

- Things to throw away

No, I certainly don't own nearly as much as an average American family of four, but I feel like I own a ton for one guy. Books and books and books . . . Who knew I had so many books? Even after clearing off all the shelves in my living room and bedroom I'm still finding books laying around the house in other corners. Then I remember the shelves of books in my basement. How in the world did I get so many books? I've already dragged eight large boxes to my parent's house. I've sold five boxes at local used book stores with at least three more boxes to sell. These numbers don't even count the ten or so boxes in my basement ready to be thrown into the back of a Uhaul.

As excited as I am about moving to a new place, meeting new people, and learning new things- as much excitement as I feel, there lingers a growing tinge of sadness for all I leave behind. I've lived in the same 70's decor church apartment for seven years now. I'll certainly miss all the little adjustments I made to the apartment.

- The black triangle where the hot iron slid off the back of the toilet and burned itself into the wallpaper.

- The off-kilter line of nails for hanging Ansel Adam's prints.

- The singed window shade just above where I placed a burning candle.

- The stovetop where I forgot I was boiling water and only succeeded in welding the pot to the stove's coils.

Ahh . . . so many memories of almost burning down the place.

No, seriously, I have so much sadness. So much yearning to stay. I'd write more about it now, but it'd only make me more sad.