Twelve and a half hours ago, I thought I was looking at a few hours of packing in my study.

It looks worse in here than when I started, and I still have more to do.

I had this lofty goal of getting rid of most of my stuff, but I neglected to think about how much time it takes to sort through all of it.

The worst was when I found an entire box of sensitive papers to shred. I knew why I had packed it; I had loaned my shredder to someone who had never returned it. Still, I felt horrible when I found that box. It was a giant symbol of all the physical and metaphorical crap I have been lugging around for ages.

Purging most of it should feel better than it does right now, but until this room starts looking significantly emptier, I’m going to be grumpy about it.