Rob vs. The Big Freak Out
So I've started to pack.
I've been quietly freaking out of late about the fact that I'm supposed to move in a month and a half, have not yet gone to look for a new apartment, have not yet booked a truck, and do not have the required driver's licence to DRIVE a truck yet, for that matter. I mean, I did actually look at the U-Haul website so that I could reserve a truck, and when I realized it would cost me $600 just to rent a truck to move to Toronto all on my own, I started panicking and required several minutes to compose myself. I closed the site down without making the reservation, wembling as I was over things like "am I
really moving on the 31st? What happens if the apartament I eventually get isn't available until the next day? Or is available sooner? I've never driven to Toronto -- I've never driven
anywhere. Maybe it would make more sense to hire movers
after all?" I also don't have any money, rendering all of these things moot in a way, and causing super duper extreme freak outs on my part. I have to borrow some not insignificant sum from relatives if I'm ever going to make a deposit on an apartment and afford a move, making the process even more daunting and terrifying.
Nor had I started to pack, and as I surveyed the humbling collection of books and knickknacks all around me yesterday, I realized that the only way to escape this feeling of helplessness and panic was to start packing it up. I started with the books in my room. This was something of a challenge, since I have been forcing myself to suppress my packrat tendencies in recent years, but nevertheless have been living here for six years and things do have a way of accumulating. Oh, mercy yes. I had to force myself to look at each and every book carefully to make sure I truly wanted to bring it with me, and would truly have a use for it besides.
It was easiest to cull the herd of textbooks from my undergraduate degree -- in the end I only took two -- and the rest are going to be given away. It's a sad end to what probably adds up to at least $2000 of books over the years, but when you look at those outdated old psychology and sociology texts -- not to mention the dusty (literally) and forgotten linguistics and philosophy texts from those crazy electives, and the computer science books from the abortive cognitive science degree I thought I wanted until third year -- you just realize that they contain naught but apocrypha and clip art. I also found some antiquities nestled snugly in my bookcases, like copies of Windows 3.1 and DOS 5.0 from my very first computer (a 386 that I only finally got around to freecycling last year, thanks to some serious purging with my helpful friend Celeste). I bet if I were ambitious I could unload those on eBay for an entire buck. Sadly, it's off to a box on the curb for you as well, my pretties. Free to a good (or bad) home.
I even found some artifacts from high school. It's been eleven years and I still have my high school binders. Time to throw those away -- though I couldn't bring myself to part with some old stories and things I wrote in OAC (grade 13 to you non-Ontarians).
Hardest of all are the personal books and "this might come in handy someday" materials from law school like cases and coursepacks. I tried to be as picky as possible, getting rid of anything I can find again if I need it, and keeping what I found useful or would enjoy reading again. Most of the personal books came with me, of course, but I recycled the old Adbusters magazines and got rid of a copy of the Book of Mormon given to me by one of their earnest young missionaries several years ago. Anyway, in the end I packed up seven boxes, and my room looks as full as ever, but I feel more accomplished. One of my roommates just moved out (the good one, unfortunately), so his room is serving nicely as a storage/staging area. Had I gotten a job in Ottawa, I had this dream of taking over my 3-bedroom apartment and turning that room into an office. Such a shame that all I can do is move boxes around in it like a big game of Tetris.
I suggested to a friend, of course, that maybe while I have that room I should do something like roll around naked in it and really make it mine. You know, one does what one can. And whatever I do will be nothing compared to the profane rituals I perform once the
bad roommates move out.
It's still nice to be feeling like I'm making some progress. I haven't moved in so long that it seems quite daunting, and so the sooner I pack and the less stuff I bring, the better off I'll be.
So -- do any sweet, helpful people out there want to help me purge the accumulated clutter of the past 10 years?