Moving, reflection, and material things.

I was mostly just shocked when I first saw my empty childhood home. 

It was always a shitbox, and it only got worse over time, but the years of living in it blinded me to just how bad it was. I took a form of solace in seeing that I wasn't imagining the cracked walls and sinking floor. It was just as bad as I thought it was. It gave me a strange kind of comfort to realize that. Now, it's on a path to recovery. 

The real stress comes from the process of moving. It feels like it takes forever (or, I've just helped three people other than me move back to back. Probably that). Putting everything you have into boxes and shipping it out in your car. I was surprised about how little stuff I had to move - a total of 5 boxes to my name. I'm glad it was consolidated into a single trip, but it gave me a perspective on stuff.

The majority of my things were nerd shit - things I don't regret having in the slightest but may have come off as "loser-ish" back in the earlier 2000's, and in some arguably anachronistic, chronologically reluctant cliques (the Satanic Panic is over, right?). I was given a reflection on what I owned - a small collection of books (mostly the ones I've decided I enjoyed enough to keep around over the years - American Gods, Don Quixote, all of my political theory and plays, mostly), my tabletop sourcebooks (a fine collection that I am proud of), and Magic cards. Vinyl too - though I lack the set up to play any of them.

It's a strange reflection I was given when packing - if I wanted to tell someone about myself using material means, are these the objects I would show? I spent the next few days mulling over that question. 

For those three days, I found somewhat content in my answer: yes! I would happily share my hobbies with others to explain myself - I think that can come off as consumerist and "Reddit" (a word, object, or concept that ultimately is shallow, uninteresting, and sheepish), but the entire thought experiment is based around stuff.

Realizing that I hated classifying myself as stuff marked the end of the three-day thought experiment. 

I am a writer and a reluctantly social creature - the things I have reflect that (and do it well), but they are in no way a measure of my being. If I could choose anything to represent me, it would probably be a love letter I haven't written yet. I think there is some linkage between my thoughts of self and thoughts on art as a human medium of expression: I am the makeup of experiences, mistakes, and snapshots of emotion. Art is a very similar product. I'll need to write more on that.

Overall, the moving process is tiring. I'm exhausted constantly. Even though my personal matters are mostly taken care of, there's still more shit.

And I have to move again in just three months' time! I hate this shit, man.