I’m moved into my new place. I like it a lot–much better than the old place I was at for six years. While it was good to be in a quiet, natural area, having two restaurant/bars a couple of doors down is better. And so is the carless commute.
But there’s still one box sitting in the living room that I haven’t opened up in the two weeks I’ve been here. Seven of the eight boxes that I loaded into the moving truck have been opened and the contents tucked away. Except for this box. It’s just full of stuff–obviously not that important. I think there are candles, a keyboard, papers and other assorted knick-knacks hidden in there.
So why don’t I open the box? Am I afraid what’s inside? No. I will eventually open that box, and decide what I’ll keep and what I’ll toss.