If you aren't yet aware that Tyyne and I are siblings, I think it's evident in the fact that I spent the past two hours sorting and organizing little details of my life abroad thus far, in what will most likely not fit into a journal as I had planned, but a giant archivist-approved box.
I keep things. My mother had called me a pack-rat as a child when I would keep so many things, little things in my room that generally, were of no value. They might have been valued in a few moments- stickers from art class, pretty leaves from the backyard, rocks from Gimli beach that glistened in the sun when first picked but now dry as bone; kept in an old sock, they were quite admittedly, dull.
My mother will be the first to tell you that there are boxes of my stuff still sitting in the spare room at home. I told her to leave the band posters, the snowboarding goggles, my guitar,amp & guitar books and Sammy untouched. Everything else can go, except that story that I wrote in grade 5, and any vintage-looking purses or really cool retro t-shirts. Okay, the t-shirts can go. But not that story in the red binding with the drawing of the ginger kid on the cover- I put a lot of effort into that story. Mrs. Leckopoy gave me an A.
Sorting the receipts, tickets, letters, cards, fliers, seashells and notes into labeled envelopes took up the good part of tonight. An envelope titled, "Poetry". One: "Travels". "Edinburgh". "London". "Christmas". Envelopes stacked up as I thought of more categories, and as I attempted to fit endless memories into letter envelopes, squeezing and stuffing and neatly packing. If there's anything I've honed a skill at, it's packing.
My time in Edinburgh is reaching an end. June has come with a new set of adventures laid out in front of me. On Monday, I will be formally handing in my two-weeks notice to my manager. On June 20th, Tyyne and Wes arrive in Edinburgh. Birthday, goodbyes and a train down to England for another year of adventures.
Has it really been 9 months?
I keep things. My mother had called me a pack-rat as a child when I would keep so many things, little things in my room that generally, were of no value. They might have been valued in a few moments- stickers from art class, pretty leaves from the backyard, rocks from Gimli beach that glistened in the sun when first picked but now dry as bone; kept in an old sock, they were quite admittedly, dull.
My mother will be the first to tell you that there are boxes of my stuff still sitting in the spare room at home. I told her to leave the band posters, the snowboarding goggles, my guitar,amp & guitar books and Sammy untouched. Everything else can go, except that story that I wrote in grade 5, and any vintage-looking purses or really cool retro t-shirts. Okay, the t-shirts can go. But not that story in the red binding with the drawing of the ginger kid on the cover- I put a lot of effort into that story. Mrs. Leckopoy gave me an A.
Sorting the receipts, tickets, letters, cards, fliers, seashells and notes into labeled envelopes took up the good part of tonight. An envelope titled, "Poetry". One: "Travels". "Edinburgh". "London". "Christmas". Envelopes stacked up as I thought of more categories, and as I attempted to fit endless memories into letter envelopes, squeezing and stuffing and neatly packing. If there's anything I've honed a skill at, it's packing.
My time in Edinburgh is reaching an end. June has come with a new set of adventures laid out in front of me. On Monday, I will be formally handing in my two-weeks notice to my manager. On June 20th, Tyyne and Wes arrive in Edinburgh. Birthday, goodbyes and a train down to England for another year of adventures.
Has it really been 9 months?
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