A forgotten part of the moving process is you have to clean your old place. And right now, my old place looks like a garbage can exploded inside of it. Why is my brother such a slob? Why do I keep everything ever given to me? An hour ago, I came across a November 2002 memo from (my former place of employment). Why did I hold onto it? Did it strike me as funny at the time? Did I keep it in case I ever wanted to spit out some gum? Was it a magic memo that promised to grant me three wishes? And if the latter, where are my millions of dollars, my Ivy-league educated supermodel girlfriend, and my ability to turn invisible?

I dug up this old post of mine after spending the weekend cleaning. I wrote it while I was getting ready for my April 2005 move. Two years later, in April 2007, I moved again. I am still, four months later, getting my place organized.

You would think I’d have learned from my move in 2005 to do a better job of decluttering. But sadly, I did not learn my lesson. I have too much old junk. Graded exams and assignments from back in my teaching days fill cardboard boxes in my room. Why do I keep them? I guess I have this paranoid feeling I will be “audited” someday. The principal of my old school will contact me asking to confirm the quiz grade of some random student back in 2003.

I hate audits.