In case you didn't know, I'm moving. Again.

I am currently in a swiftly-emptying room. 6 boxes packed and probably 4-5 more to go. Right now is probably the first time I've felt relieved about the packing job all month. I only have books left to conquer, which of course, is the bulk of it. I've gotten rid of 3 bags of clothes and a big box of books, so I think I'm taking to Boston less than what I brought to Cali. Which is good. A fresh start. I got rid of articles of clothing and books that I've been carrying since high school. And I'm sure I'll get to Boston and be like...where IS that? And then I'll curse the fact that I moved again and had to purge again. Like right now, I'm thinking, I totally got rid of that abridged version of Little Women that I've been carrying around for 15 years. And that sucks. But it's also not the entire book, so it's basically less useful to me than I thought it was when I was carting it from Brooklyn to Cambria to Berkeley to Brooklyn to Soho to Brooklyn to San Luis Obispo. Or the red fleece sweater I've been carrying since high school and wore the first couple years of college. The one that I held onto when I got a wardrobe makeover, despite my friends' insensitive protests. It's hung in like 7 closets unnecessarily. But it's still sad to get rid of it. I feel like I need a ceremony.

I hate this part. It's like a very painful shedding of my skin. And it's also the anticipation of mourning parts of my history and childhood when, one day, I'll really want to have some of those artifacts. To reminisce over. To show my kids. Too bad it's so expensive to get that stuff back across the country.

Update: After I wrote this, I went down to the garage and fished out the abridged version of Little Women. Some things just need to be held onto.

Update, #2: The heaviest box I'll pack will be the one with the memento box of programs I've kept from as far back as The Doll's House and She Loves Me, both seen around 1994.