I’ve been in the new place now more than a month. I’m just about done unpacking. Even closer now because I bought another bookcase today and put that together. I had fewer than I thought of what was to go on that one (non-fiction, general), so I decided to open another category - the Kid Books.
Every time I’ve moved those books in the past, I’d open the boxes with joy and wonder. Winnie the Pooh? I love those stories! Curious George? He is such a funny little monkey! Always the same, and I’m always glad to see them again, like old friends.
Today, however… Box after box, and the main thing I thought was “I paid someone to move this crap for me.” That, and, well, really not much else. I think they are depressing me, reminding me of a life I maybe once wanted but have turned my back on. I’ll never have kids, and I’m not one anymore. I guess that’s kind of sad. Maybe I should just let them go.