Moving is tricky, on many many levels. As I espied my shelves of oh so many intriguing and utterly useless books, I think to myself "two boxes should cut it". Optimistic to say the least. I filled 4x50 litre boxes with mostly books and DVDs. It goes without saying that anybody who is a lover of books, either on a scholarly or recreational level, should A) work out on a regular basis, B) Never move. Option B is ironically enough not an option. and option A, well let's just let bygones be bygones. I am convinced that this is how the library system got started. Some poor bloke manages to accumulate so many books that moving them becomes impossible. So what is the next logical step. You move yourself away and erect a library around your books. Now I don't want to brag that I am anywhere near library level, and maybe that would not even be a good thing, but at least for now my books are secured.
Step 3 in the great moving process is to figure out what to do with all the little nick knacks lying around. Where they came from is not really important, the fact that I still have them is. I had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine Mr. Arlov the other day where we touched upon an issue of much repute. "Stuff". Stuff that you receive over the years, be it a little post-it with a a smiley from a friend, or an eventually broken-down lamp, one might not really be bothered to toss it away. And so it gathers, slowly but surely. As the years pass this stuff becomes something more than just stuff. By keeping it around you inadvertently give it a higher status than it should have, as if you are afraid your brain might forget everything but what is in front of your eyes one day. So the stuff becomes something utterly person and dare I say defining. Now Mrs. Bull would have me have a conversation with myself concerning my stuff, and I tend to agree. I need to start asking myself the really difficult question. "Does Dan Brown's novels really deserve a re-reading at any point in my life. Should it be uplifted to the status of Shakespeare's collected works. Should it be trashed with the other pocketbooks I bought on a whim. The answer is yes. But, I am clearly not in any state to make such decisions, so for now simply packing down my belongings will have to do, and then chucking them away will be done when I unpack again.
When I reminisce back to the early days of post-high school right before the move up to Trondheim, I do remember that most of my nick knacks went in non-descript plastic bags and remain in drawer, ready to be nostalgically opened one day. The new place has a huge paper trash container in the basement, I think I will bide my time and one night, soon enough, chuck the lot of the useless stuff.
Step 3 in the great moving process is to figure out what to do with all the little nick knacks lying around. Where they came from is not really important, the fact that I still have them is. I had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine Mr. Arlov the other day where we touched upon an issue of much repute. "Stuff". Stuff that you receive over the years, be it a little post-it with a a smiley from a friend, or an eventually broken-down lamp, one might not really be bothered to toss it away. And so it gathers, slowly but surely. As the years pass this stuff becomes something more than just stuff. By keeping it around you inadvertently give it a higher status than it should have, as if you are afraid your brain might forget everything but what is in front of your eyes one day. So the stuff becomes something utterly person and dare I say defining. Now Mrs. Bull would have me have a conversation with myself concerning my stuff, and I tend to agree. I need to start asking myself the really difficult question. "Does Dan Brown's novels really deserve a re-reading at any point in my life. Should it be uplifted to the status of Shakespeare's collected works. Should it be trashed with the other pocketbooks I bought on a whim. The answer is yes. But, I am clearly not in any state to make such decisions, so for now simply packing down my belongings will have to do, and then chucking them away will be done when I unpack again.
When I reminisce back to the early days of post-high school right before the move up to Trondheim, I do remember that most of my nick knacks went in non-descript plastic bags and remain in drawer, ready to be nostalgically opened one day. The new place has a huge paper trash container in the basement, I think I will bide my time and one night, soon enough, chuck the lot of the useless stuff.
