At some point this morning I'm going to put something into a box, and, with that, the moving process will begin.
I've been looking at this box for close to two hours, now.
Though, I've been thinking about this box for months.
This box.
This box - both proverbial and real.
I wonder what was the last thing that I took out of this box when I moved here?
Or, what was the first thing that I put into it - when I moved away.
Though, let's be honest, some of those things never quite made it out of their boxes - that last time.
Could this blog have been more about things going in and out of boxes?
So, in a genius maneuver, meant to support avoiding putting anything in to that box - I started taking photos.
I know that the photos - those of whole rooms, with people in them (living life) have, already been taken.
That ship has sailed.
That is, the real photos of my home were taken well before any knowledge that we were moving ever crossed any one's minds.
I don't like staging things.
Whenever I've done that, in the past, I've noticed that all I was left with - was the memory of me staging something.
That, and whatever desperation that went behind bothering to "stage" something.
(not whatever beautiful or ugly thing I was attempting to re-capture)
This is why so many of my photos have been since excised.
I've instead documented only the odd, small, here-and-there domestic "accident" that somehow made this place home.
Up close and out of context.
No bullshit. No lies.
I photographed a small corner of a bookshelf with its few remaining books, naturally askew.
The one leaf of the one particular plant with its one patch of the neighboring building's brick in the background.
The millions and millions of rolled up floor plans.
That stack of various soaps that always hid on the edge of the bath tub.
All of them out of their wrappers; all of them slowly becoming one soap, once more.
(because all soap really does originate from one place, after all)
Just things that I looked at without realizing that I'd been looking.
It's ok.
I've been looking at this box for close to two hours, now.
Though, I've been thinking about this box for months.
This box.
This box - both proverbial and real.
I wonder what was the last thing that I took out of this box when I moved here?
Or, what was the first thing that I put into it - when I moved away.
Though, let's be honest, some of those things never quite made it out of their boxes - that last time.
Could this blog have been more about things going in and out of boxes?
So, in a genius maneuver, meant to support avoiding putting anything in to that box - I started taking photos.
I know that the photos - those of whole rooms, with people in them (living life) have, already been taken.
That ship has sailed.
That is, the real photos of my home were taken well before any knowledge that we were moving ever crossed any one's minds.
I don't like staging things.
Whenever I've done that, in the past, I've noticed that all I was left with - was the memory of me staging something.
That, and whatever desperation that went behind bothering to "stage" something.
(not whatever beautiful or ugly thing I was attempting to re-capture)
This is why so many of my photos have been since excised.
I've instead documented only the odd, small, here-and-there domestic "accident" that somehow made this place home.
Up close and out of context.
No bullshit. No lies.
I photographed a small corner of a bookshelf with its few remaining books, naturally askew.
The one leaf of the one particular plant with its one patch of the neighboring building's brick in the background.
The millions and millions of rolled up floor plans.
That stack of various soaps that always hid on the edge of the bath tub.
All of them out of their wrappers; all of them slowly becoming one soap, once more.
(because all soap really does originate from one place, after all)
Just things that I looked at without realizing that I'd been looking.
It's ok.
It really is.
I'm just stalling.
T_T packing up and moving on are hard to do. I have pictures of different places I have lived-pictures that I took just because I liked the way the room looked that day(now I know at least one other person has done that-I feel less weird)and I still look at them. Like little time capsules-calling to mind sometimes even what I did that particular day. I wish I could help you-well I hate packing but I am good at talking a mile a minute and being distracting and according to some, annoying, any of which is guaranteed to make ripping a band aid off a little easier to do. Long distance hugs and heart wishes for you and Tom, especially right now...
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