It’s 23:19 and I think (despite being in denial about having packed up every last item I own) I have now packed up my life yet again into 7 boxes and three suitcases which are being picked up by the friendly neighbourhood storage people tomorrow morning. Its debris: bits of paper, ticket stubs, handouts, useless lecture notes, candy wrappers and envelopes form a solemn row of five in black and white bin bags lined up against the sterile wall of a drab (yes, for those aware- the pun was intended) college dorm room; possibly the last of its kind I will see considering that Bronte, Emizzle, Dakota and I are finally moving into a place of our own in town next year.
I’m sitting here stirring my samahan (pre-travel immune booster/addictive stuff!/because I have some left and no more Dilmah ginger tea) with a fork because the teaspoons are befriending the duvet in box number 5. Ironically, here I am forming the void between the objects which define me. I suppose the anti-materialist, Walden Pond types just choked on their sleepy tea or morning coffee (depending on what part of the world they’re in) but shielding the heart of our lives is a shell of objects which define our person woven in patterns that reveal the stories of our lives with the mementos of our past, the necessities of our present, and
the dreams for our future.
Dreams of sleep may elude me due to the 5 cups of coffee I have chugged down during the course of today, as I stare at the computer screen contemplating watching the next episode of Greek.
Dreams of Colombo on a Sunday evening begin to materialize, as the dominoes began stumbling with today’s defeat of the packing monster.
Home… seems too far to be so close.
On a diff note.. You have been tagged.. go spread the love.