Big Box of WTF

I know all you peeps missed me during my long hiatus so cyber hugs and all that happy crappy. I hope you had a great festive holiday season filled with fun and with booze for the not-so-fun stuff. For my new year, I finally finished moving to a new state and a new house. And by finished I mean there are still a LOT of boxes in my garage. Every time I go out to get in my car I get depressed as I squeeze my way to the car and kick shit out of the way so I can get the door open. It’s not really my fault that I have all this crap. I’d like to haul it out onto the driveway and throw a match on it but the bitches at the HOA frown on that shit. So I blame those tight asses for my lack of space and tidiness in my garage. In my former slice of Kentucky, nobody cared if you burned the merry hell out of a pile of junk. Here, I practically need to wrap it up and put a pretty bow on it for its unceremonious wait on the curb for the trash man.

I do have a lot of old crap. In theory it should be easy to toss it all, but it’s not. It’s also not really the fault of the HOA biddies. It’s all on me. I think moving is actually a lot like Christmas morning. Once those sweaty moving guys finish unloading their moving sleigh with all your stuff, you get to unwrap it all. Some of those boxes contain great stuff that you actually want, need and asked for, and some boxes are filled with a whole lot of WTF. It’s fun to open the “good” boxes full of old photos, a glass pitcher Grandma left you, and mother’s day gifts your kids made for you, and take a trip down memory lane. Once all the good, important stuff has found a new place in the new house, you’re left with the equivalent of the weird shirt with one arm shorter than the other that Aunt Helen sent you for Christmas. That shirt is usable but you have a million shirts already that you use when you go out to sweat in the yard. Yet, Aunt Helen made the effort to send you something so you have an odd attachment to that stupid shirt and don’t feel like you can toss it on the rubbish pile. Same thing when you open that moving box filled with old toys your children loved and played with, the cool box a long-gone-watch came in, an old notebook from college – all those stupid things are really memories in a physical form. Christmas gifts opened are a memory too, and one that may grow and be really special.

Ok, I’m done being all poetic and shit. It’s a new year filled with possibilities. I plan to explore some new stuff, get back in shape because I’m a cow, and to finish up being the box everyone loves to open. Cheers!

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