It’s Kind of Like Dying

It’s Kind of Like Dying

It’s down pouring. Daniel and I are sitting in our living room, which has windows on three walls and is tucked away in the trees of one of Montgomery’s oldest neighborhoods.

To my left is a mound of papers classified as “important.” My feet are extended to the coffee table, resting on a pile of junk that is called “I Need to Deal with These Things Sooner Rather than Later.” On the floor sit two more piles: the no longer wanted and the Memories.

I’ve written posts about the Memories before. I have this habit of keeping every stub, every flyer, every scrap of nonsense, and sifting through it occasionally but mostly just letting it grow to epic proportions. Moving to Africa is a little like dying and I have to sort through everything I own to make sure it either makes sense to make my parents hold it for two years…or otherwise get rid of it. I’m forcing myself to finally decide what to do with all of those Very Important Things.

I don’t like it. I’ve never liked sorting through these things. I find the travel stubs that moved me from Glendora to Potsdam, and I smile. Then I find the receipt from the hospital visit from the day I met my ex boyfriend, and I am sad. There are lots of things to be felt when you sift through every Memory you’ve ever made since 2011.

But I suppose it needs to be done. At least, that’s what Grown Up Liz is telling Procrastinating Liz. I can’t just have a disorganized blend of things from every place I’ve lived since 2011 waiting for me when I move back from Africa. That makes about as much sense as keeping the trinkets in the first place.


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