Pruning

Since 2003, I've moved 6 times.
And yet I still manage to own the most ridiculous amount of crap.
14 pairs of jeans!? 40 sweaters!? 5 guitars!? A George W. Bush pinata!? Really!?
I once again find myself in the midst of the packing frenzy, storing and stashing, tossing and consigning stuff. And once again I find that my sincere desire to leave has been nipped by my keen interest in staying. It's as if I need a countdown to departure for me to value what is around me. I guess it's a mental and emotional pruning in a way, a distillation to the matter. As Nacho Libre says, the "nitttty gritttty". It's taking this wide and vast pool of people I care about, and boiling it down to those I'll stilll be in contact with in a year. Or is it stocking up on tidbits of memories for the chilliness that is acclamation to a new space and time? What does that even mean?
Regardless, I want to move and I don't, simply because I'm having such a fabulous time being right here.