today the movers came and brought us our things, our boxes and boxes of books that i refuse to feel guilty about; our one dresser that is so unhinged that it can be wobbled frontways, sideways, backways and diagonally with little or no exertion; my gigantic tupperware filled to the brim with just my shoes, a testament to the psychological damage suffered from years and years of being too poor to buy shoes in my size; clothes! lots!; good quality kitchenware; unbroken stemware; and finally that gorgeous hand-made hunk of hand-polished walnut where we keep mister monkey's disturbingly large collection of pants.
of course unpacking, even more so than packing, brings it home how much stuff we have. and there is something humbling (and very embarrassing) when you unpack stuff and realise that some underpaid pack-jockey wasted minutes of his life packing your rocks. yes, rocks. i was instantly overwhelmed with feelings of stupidity and shame that culminated in my finally giving up my shell collection that i've been lugging with me for years for no discernible reason, most probably harbouring some nasty kind of marine bacteria that's just waiting to pounce.
already we have a large box of items to donate.
and tonight, i sleep in my bed. life is good.