The highs and lows of the last few days are wearing me down. Two offers on the house fell through. Moments of elation, of relief, followed by sadness and defeat.

Sorting through nostalgia. Years of my life in boxes, in photographs. Feeling detached and vacant. Who was that person?

Keep pushing through. Place each item into either moving box, donation pile, or garbage bag. Ruthless decision making. To move these items again and again and again. Fourty five pounds of text books I part with, and that's barely a dent in it. What for? For the feeling that I once thought I'd do something with it?

It drags me down, all of this stuff. It pulls me into darker times in my past. A sketch of an old boyfriend. A birthday card from my dead grandmother. A dictionary that I used in elementary school.

And leaving this house that I've come to love. Knowing strangers walked through here, saw my closet organized by colour, the basket where I fold my pyjamas. Walked across the grass that I've mowed and raked over and over and over...