A Moving Tale.

I discovered something tonight. When you're entrenched somewhere, when you have a space that's yours, it's easy to hoard things. Throwing things away this week has been a trying task for a packrat like myself, and I've made many a “difficult” decision in throwing away scraps of paper with doodles and memos from 1998. This afternoon I got the call from the computer people to schedule my move. I said tomorrow would be good for me and asked if I get to keep the sweet flatscreen I noticed in my space-to-be. There was some spurious explanation offered that I could have a new monitor, or keep the old one and be first in line when the art directors got new computers. Apparently, anyone with a flatscreen wouldn't be upgraded before people on old clunky monitors. It took a while for that to sink in, though.

By 5:00 the anticipation was too much. I had work to do, much of which was neglected because an editor asked me to revise my type design on a book jacket three times. I didn't mind so much, since normally I send them my designs and get a “looks great; thanks!” and once even a,”I wish we were allowed to put your name on these; I don't like that company policy.” Of course, when I sent them my design for a different jacket and she had yet another comment about the type, I decided to switch gears. Earlier, the head of Office Services had given us the staggering information that the company presently had NO boxes he could scrounge up, and the computer technician joked about wishing she'd saved empty boxes from paper reams. Though I'm moving all of 20 feet at best, it's still a lot to move by hand. Fortunately, I found a huge empty box under the desk in my new space, and within several trips had my new bookshelf stocked. When it came time to take down all the various posters and illustrations on my walls though, I found myself hesitating, asking “do I REALLY want to save this?” I threw out a lot of things I never thought I'd part with, things I would have kept if I stayed. I found myself noticing how much stuff other people had in their cubicles, some of whom had been in the same spot for over 10 years; others for less. Even people lacking the sentimental attachments I form with inanimate objects had impressive collections of stuff. I know it's a matter of time before my new space becomes cluttered, but I'm going to try and keep it as organized as possible for as long as possible. It isn't in my nature, and it's tough with my workload to stop and do something trivial like cleaning, but I'm realizing the value of it.

Lost was new tonight; all three shows I watch on Wednesdays were new. A little after 7:00 I decided to leave. My cubicle, my soon-to-be-former cubicle, looks so strange to me now, so naked and unfamiliar. It seems larger without anything on the wall but also colder, less like home. It's strange how the new space changed as I added more and more of my things, how it began to feel familiar. I still have the task of emptying my drawers and moving a few stacks of catalog samples tomorrow, and I suspect before I'm done I'll be throwing more things away, just so I don't have to move them. Tomorrow will be weird. In the morning I'll be working in the same place I have for just over five years, but it won't be the same. When I return from lunch, I'll be working someplace new. But it won't feel new for long, I suspect. I've lived in the same room for over thirty years, slept in the same bed for just over twenty and had the same mattresses for about fifteen. I commuted to school and if I had to guess how many nights in my life I slept elsewhere, I would say it would be under twenty. I'm not sure where I'm going with this train of thought, but there was a moment tonight when I sat down on the floor of my new cubicle, looked around at my things, and liked the taste of the experience.