Where am I?
I’m packing, it reminds me of an archeology hunt.
Everytime I go deeper I find something else that says something about me. It’s really prevalent with my books.
I’m in the purple hair, punk rock stage now. But before I hit that I found my unemployment depressed stages, my miserable with job, my aussie curious stages, my fuck working man I’m an artist stages, photography, then high school.
If I die tomorrow, and a coroner has to sort through all of this what will he find? A 29 year old that has an obsession with power-c vitamin water, or will he dig deeper to make sense of the chaos?
Does my life have a pattern or is my response of “where ever the wind goes” too true? Do I need a pattern? Why am I so scared over this move? Or am I just scared of finding something as I go through everything I own?
Too many questions, that might not need to be asked.
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Update -
As I go deeper in there, lots more questions are popping up. Like how many black t-shirts do I own?!?!
Can I really justify keeping that piece of schwag even though I know it’s probably going to sit in the drawer?
Finally the most important, whose underwear is that? I know for the life of me I never bought a black thong, I’m going through the girls that did manage to sucker in here I don’t remember them wearing it, and the party wasn’t that wild that one time.
Shit, I’m tossing them but still that’s going to be on my mind all day.
