Earlier today I decided to have a shot at packing my room. I've found out something interesting about myself. I am a Pack Rat. Somehow, in the 19 years I've known me, I've missed that little fact. It would have been nice to know.
I've decided that the source of my pack ratism is that I have a habit of attaching too much history to too much stuff. I wouldn't have a problem if it was just stuff. I could get rid of that. The trouble is that the stuff reminds me of things I would prefer not to forget. I have a plastic cone about six inches tall that came from Wiregrass Catholic Youth Day 2006. It is covered in signatures of friends as well as persons I don't even know. It was a great day though. I have a golden colored feather from Matilda, a very talented chicken; the last of the Golden laying hens. She came when she was called, caught tiny pieces of bread, stole food from the dog's dish, beat up the cats when they tried to steal from her, and survived multiple attacks from hawks and dogs. We found the feather the day she was tragically murdered by a neighborhood dog. I have a rabies tag that belonged to my first dog. I have a dragon puppet I helped my mom make for my brothers. Sadly, the dragon was slain the first time he faced a knight. He was slain very thoroughly indeed.
I thought I was doing really well after I finished mercilessly going through my wardrobe. Throwing away holey t-shirts and worn out shoes is one thing. Tossing Matilda's feather is entirely different. So I'll keep the feather on the off chance that I remember where it came from when I have finished traveling the world. The great thing about feathers and rabies tags is that they don't take up much room. I'll stash the cone somewhere, and decide what to do with it another day. I'll throw away something else instead. Something that doesn't make me remember anything. I'll throw it away just as soon as I come across it.