The real reason I’m back in Oberlin (perhaps against my better judgement) is to see one of my close friends, Becca, graduate. Unfortunately, since I’ve gotten here, I’ve realized that such a magnanimous gesture of support is actually kind of a lot to deal with for someone who just finished their final finals (woo!) and then has to immediately pack up their apartment and vacate it in less than a week. I was in this position last year, but none of my relatives were, you know, literally sleeping on my floor, so I had some more time with it.
An indispensable aspect of packing is the getting rid of objects one isn’t taking on one’s move. My favorite aspect of helping other people pack is that sometimes, they give you those objects. Becca in particular has been very generous with clothes that don’t fit her that well anymore (thanks, Becca!!!), and now I have like 3 new shirts, yay!
It’s possible I’m unreasonably drawn to free stuff: it’s great when a friend is getting rid of cool clothes, but I’ve also been known to accept things I definitely wouldn’t wear otherwise (I’m looking at you, bright purple Victoria’s Secret PINK sweatpants from Avery!), or that have some other problem. This tendency is particularly put to the test in May, when college towns are full of free crap, piled up everywhere. Having grown up in a small college town not dissimilar to Oberlin, there were many time when young me begged to bring home sagging couches and dented ikea tables.
Of course, given my thorough understanding of this aspect of packing, one might think that I would, you know, actually get rid of a reasonable amount of my own stuff. One would be wrong. I’ve accepted that once something has actually ceased to function for me, it has to go, but things that are merely unused, it is completely reasonable to hang on to forever and ever. Part of the problem is the fact that my parents haven’t moved for most of my conscious life, so I’ve always had passive storage space for all this stuff. Yes, I’ve moved myself, but I’ve only brought the stuff I really used with me, and hung on to the rest of it anyway. My parents have been hoping I’d clean up my bedroom at home enough that they could, you know, actually use it for a few years now (sorry, Mom and Dad!). I have this fantasy that when Will and I move into an actual apartment, I’ll have enough space in there to really sort through things, but I’m not going to make promises I’m not sure I can keep.