Things I Love #3: Treasure

One of the benefits of living in a modestly sized apartment is that when it comes time to bid that apartment goodbye, you have the comfort of knowing that no matter how unpleasant it may be to pack, there can only be a finite number of things that need packing.  Or this is what I tell myself every morning to convince myself that it will be safe to get out of bed.

But as it turns out, even the smallest of apartments is large enough to hold a bounty of hidden treasures, which I discovered today during an ambitious attempt to advance my packing of trivialities from 35% to 95% completion.  (I hit 80% and quit to eat some frozen cereal and write this blog post.)

It all started when I found $1.32 in change and some receipts from Disney World at the bottom of a handbag that I had forgotten I owned.  You're probably about to say, that's not a lot of money. Well, did I mention most of it was in quarters?  Yeah, now you're not about to say anything, right?  Also, I destroyed the Disney receipts, but they reminded me of what it was like to go to Disney World as an adult, and how magically depressing the whole experience was, and how I should never try it again.  And learning that lesson was very valuable and 'treasure-like' as well.

I then proceeded to find:

Dress shoes from seventh grade -- the massive block-like heels on the shoes probably helped to stabilize me as I traveled through puberty; I can't think of any other justification for their being there, much less my owning the shoes

A See's Mint Krispy from Christmas -- still krispy, although obviously that's not how you spell crispy (you spell it like that)

Toiletries from the W hotel -- always torn about this one, because on the one hand, Bliss products are fairly legitimate, but on the other hand, I get angry thinking about the W hotel and how smug it is -- "Whatever, Whenever", "Fall in Wuv", the works -- and on both hands, Bliss lemon lotion smells like freshly killed ants, because crushed ants smell like lemon.

Previously unread issues of The New Yorker, dating as far back as last November -- did you know that the televangelist guy everyone liked ended up getting elected?  Lollers!@!  But seriously: sometimes living in a world devoid of money and politics is the best treasure one can give to one's sanity.

Issues of Vanity Fair that I had previously read and forgotten I wanted to read again -- like the issue with Tina Fey, of which I own two copies.  Obviously I have read both.  But I still wish that the digital scanner I love at work could scan and email Maureen Dowd's words straight into my brain, so that I could have them there anytime I want to think about Tina Fey and what it must be like for her to be her.

Previously and currently unread issues of Elle Magazine -- What's going on here?  I don't even subscribe to Elle Magazine, and its presence in my apartment is throwing me off balance even more than my seventh grade shoes, which, yes, I tried on again, just to make sure they were as horrible as they looked.

Some rocks from Paris -- Setting aside for a minute how great the rocks in Paris are, which most people don't realize because they're too busy looking for things that don't last as long as rocks, I have to say, rocks present a considerable packing challenge.  Because like most treasures of rare value, they defy categorization with the very fact of being in a category of their own.  Furthermore, the fact that they are rare suggests a quantity insufficient to justify a box dedicated solely to rocks, let alone rocks from Paris.  And so one is forced to decide what makes less nonsense: including them in a box with office supplies that are all half-used, or a box with make-up supplies that have never been used because one never quite learned how to use them.

But as I think back over all that I've uncovered today, I would say I actually feel quite good, and I might even go so far as to say that I am excited about the rest of my packing, if only to see what else I might find.  A metaphor for life, perhaps?  No, not really.  Don't even try to pull off that kind of child-like optimism, because before you know it, you'll be spending senior year spring break hanging out with Goofy and Donald Duck, and take it from me, no amount of receipt-shredding years later will be able to change that fact.