No ties to bind me, no reasons to remain

There are moments in your life where you make realisations. Moments of clarity that can only occur when you've worn yourself out. When your brain feels like it might fall out. The feeling you get when you think you can't go on, when you remember you haven't drank water for two days straight and have stopped washing yourself. Everybody should have one of these moments. Mine happened this weekend.

It occured in the end scene of the week. About half twelve on Sunday night/monday morning. We'd just dropped off what had to have been the 4hundredth car load of stuff to the new house and were in the middle of some creative waste managment problem solving. I looked into the boot of the car and it hit me. I own a ridiculous amount of complete and utter shit. Not just one or two bags of junk, but boxes and boxes and boxes of total and utter garbage.

The migration in question being the move from my first ever house of rented accomodation to the second of such houses. The latter being closer to town and less residential. From here on in it will be known as "The Move" to all who witnessed it. And I hope to fuck its the last.

As I began to unpack things from boxes I hadn't bothered even looking in since last November, I stumbled across a treasure trove of memories...that I could no longer remember. Stacks of bus tickets from journeys I have no recollection of being on, beer mats of drinks I don't drink, empty cigarette boxes and nagan bottle tops from nights that have all blurred into one. Somewhere at some point, in the 'Are you there God, its me Margaret' portion of my brain, I felt I should hold onto these. Mementos of a day well spent is what I was probably thinking. What I'm thinking now what the fuck was I thinking then?

But, amongst the coal there were diamonds, and between the cinema stubs, the 10 year old Ms. Selfridge receipts and the sea of clothes I found something I'm glad I kept. The newspaper that my mother kept for me, from the day I was born.