Home doesn't feel like home anymore. It just feels like the place where all my stuff is. That's to be expected, I guess, since I haven't lived here for nine weeks. But I didn't expect to feel quite so unmoored.
I've been purging, and what a purge it's been. At least 65% of my book collection and roughly 80% of my wardrobe is now gone, donated to the Salvation Army or sold off on various online outlets. (Those of you who knew my former book collection, I'm down to about 10% of the all-time high.) If I had any residual doubts about moving to California, they disappeared the instant I jettisoned all the wool kneesocks. Goodbye forever, 14 pairs of wool kneesocks! See ya, 19 pairs of flannel-lined dress pants! Sayonara, 27 pairs of black tights! Not to mention the silk long johns, the boots, the gloves, the sweaters...I didn't realize how extensive my winter wardrobe had gotten until I got rid of most of it. There's not much wardrobe left now, but that's okay. Even though I'll be driving a moving van cross-country, I still want there to be as little as possible inside the moving van. I'm stripping it all down to the bare essentials.
I can't bring myself to get rid of my cashmere sweaters, though. If anyone is willing to give them a good home and love them them the way I loved them, let me know. And the herbs I planted in the backyard grew like wildfire while I was gone. It pains me to leave them behind, too, but I'm trying to console myself with visions of basil growing year-round in Cali.
All this purging, though, and I haven't started packing yet. Maybe that's why I still don't feel productive.
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