Moving Home is Rubbish

Especially when you've been pushed into the smallest room because your brother snaffled the big room when you moved out in the first place.

I've spent the last couple of days trying to squeeze my belongings into the smallest room in the house (yes....even the bathroom is bigger than mine), last night I gave up. Got the bin bags out and started loading the car up for the charity shop.

I think there are four stages of a clear out. First, theres the stuff only fit for the bin, you throw it all out, rubbish, paper, broken bits of things, things you didn't even know existed, all in a black bag and straight to the bin.

Then theres the stuff thats too good to throw away but you definitely don't need. It all goes to the charity shop without a second thought. Its hideous, you bought it and never used it, or you just plain old don't need it any more.

Now, this is where most people get to stop. They've cleared enough space in their room to move, out with the old and theres still space for the new. But me? No chance! I had to go at least another 2 steps further.

Stage three of the clear out. Stuff you like but will never probably use again. You try to convince yourself that you will fit into those jeans again, or you will read that book again because it was so good, you wont, you never will, but you want to keep it anyway. This is where the clear out gets hard. You have to prise those shoes from your sweaty grasp into the black bag thats going to the charity shop, you paid a fortune for them and now someone is going to snap them up for 20p out of the salvation army shop. Gutting.

But then, and only then, once you've been through every belonging ruthlessly chucking stuff out and giving it to the poor children, comes stage four. You've cleared and cleared, but theres still as much stuff as when you started. All that stuff you are trying to crow bar into the box room just wont fit and you mums saying, just dump it on the floor, its not like your here for long (only all summer and holidays). Stage four is hard, hardest of them all. It takes more than a heart of steel to chuck out that bag that went with around Australia with you last summer, or that picture that Auntie Bessie (who died 10 years ago) painted for you or even just to cut down the shoe or cd collection, just so you can get into a bed at night.

Its hard, really hard, you need to go through everything again and again, convincing yourself that the dress you loved last year is just that, so last year. It gets to the stage where you're throwing things out that you haven't worn in ages, even though you still like it, just to make room for something that you love.

Fair enough, they're only material possesions, but they're MY material possesions and downsizing just doesn't seem like a good enough reason for throwing out if you ask me. And it doesn't help when your mum is holding a jacket she bought you saying "you can throw it out of you like, don't feel like you need to keep it because I bought you it." Thanks mum, I was about to till you said that with a solitary emo tear in your eye.

I'm sure stage five is still to come. But I won't ever look in those black bags again.

Never, ever look back.