I must find an infallible way of reminding myself that the hot boys who strut round campus in their board shorts and flipflops are mere babies and that to allow my head to be turned by them is bordering on being illegal. I think the problem comes from having been a lazy boozy student on the same campus when it was okay to perve over the hot boys because, and this is the crucial bit, they weren’t TEN years younger than me. *hangs head in shame*
If that isn’t a clue that perhaps it is time to move on from this fair city then I don’t know what is. In preparation for a potential exodus from this city and a definite upcoming exodus from my current flat I’ve been on a weeding mission to rid myself of the boxes and boxes of clutter that I’ve accumulated over the years. It’s only when I sit down to go through the stuff that I realise quite how much crap I’ve kept that I never use and actually, have no emotional attachment to. Well, it’s time for it to be gone! I’ve bought three nice storage boxes from IKEA (yes I had meatballs and lingonberry sauce) and if it’s something that I don’t use regularly and it doesn’t fit into those boxes then it is going, going, GONE.
When I was in the Priory (contrary to popular belief it wasn’t because I tried to top myself thankyouverymuch) my counsellor, who at the time I thought of as a poisoned dwarf sent to make my life miserable, used to harp on about emotional baggage. Naturally I was more worried about my physical baggage, the size of my arse, my flabby stomach and tree trunked hips but now I think I finally get what she was wibbling on about. Some of the stuff I’ve kept serves a purpose or brings back fond memories or gives me more of a glimpse into the person my Mum was before she became my Mum, such as the love letters she and my Dad wrote. Some of it is just cool stuff I want to keep around until I have my own front door and yet an awful lot of it is painful, hard stuff that it is time to let go.
The other reason for getting shot of so much junk is because my move in July will be the TWELFTH time I have moved in nine years and it’s a total pain in the arse carting things round with me. I am desperately hoping that this move will be the last before I can finally give up renting for good and then I’ll have a whole house to fill with crap…. Hooray!