Saturday, April 21, 2012

J is for Junk

            I’m moving again. I have lived in this apartment for two years and twenty-five days. I’m not ready to go. I thought everything would be fine and dandy; I’m moving closer to school and will save $170 every month. That’s a lot. Unfortunately, it is so much cheaper because I am moving out of a large, two bedroom apartment and moving into a shoebox. Baby shoes.


            Packing is bringing up bad memories. Last time I packed, it was to move out of Ex’s house. The act of sorting through our things into “mine” and “his” piles was so hard I thought it would kill me. It is also when I started drinking. A lot. (See “A is for Alcohol” if you want the gory details.) So, packing is bringing up urges to drink. My psychiatrist told me I need to go to AA but I don’t want to. Not at all – so I have decided to just stop drinking.

            Easier said than done. My junk is not packing itself!

            I am shocked by the large amount of junk I have. There are some things I have had since childhood, like jacks and a rubber ball, which I haven’t touched since I was twelve but have packed and moved with me for years. It is a bit ridiculous. I am taking a boat load of junk to the thrift store. Included in that junk is my wedding dress.


           I can't believe I just called my wedding dress junk. It is a beautiful dress and I could probably sell it for a few hundred dollars but I don’t think I could stand to see someone wearing my dress. I would rather just go to sleep at night knowing that some happy woman just hit the jackpot at the thrift store.

            One girl’s junk is another girl’s jackpot.

Relationships blog Relationships blog Top  blogs