Oh to be home again.

Oh the stress, the drama, the love, the crying. Oh, to be home again.
Oh, to know that I am leaving soon. Oh, to know how much my mother
disapproves.

I have been here for less than 24 hours, and already, the emotions
have been running all over the place.

I am helping my mother move. I am packing boxes, putting books on
Amazon.com. I am going through my things, throwing them out, and
repacking boxes. I am paring down my clothing, and throwing out even
more material goods. It is funny. You start out with so little, and
over the years, they add up and turn into more and more. Things you
don't even use. Things you can't remember where you got. Things that
have great memories, smells, pictures, ideas. You hold on to them.
Perhaps you'll need them one day. Perhaps you'll remember what
happened. Perhaps they'll be good again. Over time they pile up and
become these overwhelming towers of emotions and good times.

So the first time throwing things away is overwhelming. We go
through, and it's so hard to let things go. But you do it. You pry
the objects of love from your fingers and your heart, you can hear
the dry crackle of old glue as you pull it away. You take them, in
boxes and bags, either to charity, to the corner, or the dumpster
depending on the condition. You let them go, hopefully sold for petty
cash, to a charity for someone more poor and a handy tax write off,
to the curb for a magical fairy of the early morning to take away.

And then, it has fallen down to half the size it was before. You
continue on with your life, and two days later, you've forgotten
about everything you've thrown out.

I wonder if I will keep trimming down till I have nothing left, or if
it will all soon be replaced.