There is a wardrobe in my bedroom that is full to bursting with more than just clothes.
The day I moved in to my current home I found that, after carefully putting away all the practical stuff in sensible, accessible places, I had several boxes that contained, well, ‘memorabilia’. These were the things that I had accumulated over the years and held dear, without really knowing what to do with them. There were a few things, such as pictures and photos, that I was able to put up on display around the house.
A few things I disposed of because the associations they held had become painful to me (I had recently had a break-up). The rest of the stuff I had put carefully away on the top shelf of my wardrobe…and at the bottom.
And with a very small number of exceptions they have remained there ever since, and been added to, so that the older memories and the less used have crept backwards and become a bit compressed and screwed up, while the new memories are at the front and tend to tumble out every time I open the door and try to find a clean shirt.
Anybody feel a metaphor coming on?Read more »