Clearing the junk.

There’s something cathartic about clearing out a load of crap that has been living in your shed for years. And when I say living, I mean a home to rats and spiders.
It’s fun to watch the garbage truck come and crush the pile of old desks and broken chairs, to watch them cart away the clutter of the last few years. In the last few years I have set aside my hoarding ways, slowly able to release my vice-like grip on the rubbish that I find that “Might just come in handy one day.”
Gone are the the old tents, with their missing poles and pegs. Gone are the boxes of old point of sale, accumulated since I stopped being able to burn the excess. Posters and cut outs of people, plastic hardware to display meaningless ads on supermarket shelves.
Gone is the backpack that four years ago did the unsuccessful trip to try and find the wreck of the Stinson. It has been a home for rats sincce I-don’t-know when.
When I say unsuccessful, I mean that we didn’t find Westray’s grave or the wreck. I did however get pooped on by a koala, but that is another story.
Yes, it’s cathartic to watch the old junk get dragged away.
I retain the memories attached to the old crap.
After all, memories take up less room.

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