Three and a half months ago, when I moved out of Inverness and into my son's home in Daly City, I got rid of a lot of possessions. Some I gave away, some I tossed. The rest I boxed up and moved into the garage here. There aren't as many boxes as you might imagine, mostly books and dishes and some clothes. But today I decided that no matter how many boxes are there, there needs to be fewer. I began going through them again with the clear intent of getting rid of even more stuff.
Why? I don't know. Part of me thinks "hey, if I haven't needed it in three months, why keep it?" But that is a bit short-sighted because when I eventually get a job and can move out of here, I will need some of those things. I will need dishes and pots and pans and I will want some of the books to come with me. But still...... do I really want to haul all this around? Can I live without it?
I readily acknowledge that part of this obsession with getting rid of stuff is directly related to my current state of unemployment. I am not sure how it's related but there is definitely a connection. Maybe it is because I don't really know who I am supposed to be right now. The longer you look for employment the less certain you are of finding it. It's as if your identity gets less and less clear, as if you become shadowy in some way. It's difficult to explain. I never was one who thought my job was who I was but now that I have been without one for almost 18 months, my identity seems sort of watery. Perhaps getting rid of my possessions is a result of that feeling.
I don't know, I am just rambling here. Suffice it to say that going through boxes of things that once were an immediate part of my life is depressing. I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder if I ever will get another job. That's depressing as well. Living here isn't depressing, it's a great place to be and I am happy about that. But the uncertainty about everything else is awkward and a bit scary.
Sigh. Enough. It's time to get the dogs out for a run.
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