Friday, June 16

Since ending school I have found an immense pleasure in deleting and tossing. Of things. People. Numbers. Papers. Anything. I have become so organized I almost think I have changed personas—I have even started sorting my sister’s belongings in effort to avoid clutter.

I don’t know what exactly it is that makes all this deleting so appealing. You would think that by being forced out of the student lifestyle I would have grabbed on to everything and anything that reminded me of the life I’ve known for the past four…ten…twenty-two years.

Plus, I have always been considered a very good pack-rat. When I started sorting, packing, and moving I discovered just how grand my obsession for keeping things was: lovenotes from grade four crushes, make-up stolen from my mother’s 1980s collection, tags from clothing I wore in grade nine—it was all stored somewhere, waiting for me.

Not anymore! Once I started throwing a few things out, I couldn’t stop. It became therapeutic. With every toss of something I had once coveted I felt refreshed and reinvented. In your face, belongings—I don’t need you to hold me back! (But here’s hoping someone at Goodwill will use you to move forward with.)

And now it’s the excitement of loss and the pride of detachment that I crave. After I finished cleaning out my bedroom and bathroom I started going through other collections—address books, email archives, and phone numbers. Delete, delete, delete.

It’s not that I’ve lost my sentimentality; I simply find it easier to define what will be important now, rather than it is to hang onto things which once seemed significant.

Or maybe I am not demolishing, just renovating. Making room for everything that’s about to arrive. I start my new job on Monday morning, 8am.