Boxes and Boxes and Boxes of Crap

I have been the worst kind of pack rat for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t take a crystal ball to clearly see my future as a crazy old cat lady surrounded by piles of old magazines and boxes of weird objects. Being an “imaginative” (see also: slightly insane) crafter has always been one of the primary reasons for hoarding. Magazines can’t be thrown away because they can be used for collages. Worn, stained t-shirts might be too gross for Goodwill but they make nice rags, and the unstained bits can always find their way into a quilt. Then there’s the more unusual odds and ends.

I tend to be a bit nomadic, which is at odds with my inability to part with material possessions. When packing my belongings, I begin months before the actual move. And inevitably, in the last week, I find myself staring down a strange conglomeration of totally random and seemingly useless objects. A bent fork, a piece of silver rope, a pile of dominoes. So I grab a cardboard box, label it miscellaneous, and transport it to my new domain.

Though moving rarely happens more than once a year, this process also happens on a smaller scale every single time I clean. Small piles of bits and baubles gather on the corner of a night stand, only to be dumped into some nearby decorative box.

Though my initial intention is to use that poker chip on a scrapbook page, or give this profane plastic pencil topper as a gag gift, usually it just doesn’t happen. The boxes themselves remain intact, and have become their own collection. After years squirreling these “boxes of miscellany” I read a feng shui article that said the first and most important way to achieve good chi flow is cleaning out the clutter. The last 9 months of my life definitely indicate some serious blockages in my chi arteries. Time to open the little treasure troves and admit they are really boxes of junk.

I have to confess I am averse. Sure there’s my usual issue of fearing change. But also there’s an artistic composition to some of these boxes. Take out the contents, lay them out, and there seems to be a story. Sometimes it might be a confusing story, like why is there a purple plastic lobster next to an old retainer, but still it does ignite the imagination.

So, as I am prone to do when unable to preserve something physically, I am photographing a small sampling of these “boxes of miscellany” so that at least some documentation remains. Stock piling digital images is a bit more reasonable. And I don’t think it’s as likely to clog my chi.