It's been harder than I thought to throw things away that I can't take with me, even little things that I've never used, and shouldn't feel any attachment to. I think it's because the future I had imagined with those objects is being destroyed: pretty envelopes that were never sent, tea that was never drank, blank note cards. I had envisioned myself enjoying the tea, sending out letters, and making notes on the cards. Now that will never happen, and it is oddly painful.
As is throwing away old birthday cards, a broken watch, and countless other knick knacks that no longer serve me. Business cards of people I've never called. Copies of old leases. Stuff that is here but is never used anymore.
Soon all that I have in this world will be reduced to a suitcase, six boxes and a bunch of paintings.
It's exciting, painful and something of a relief to shed this skin.