Memories take up a lot of room

My kitchen has been invaded by my past.

All those boxes, full of memories I have no place for right now. Memories take up a lot of room, making it necessary for me to sidle around them as I cook, easing past the ghosts in the boxes, wondering what version of me is contained therein.

Albert the cat knows what to do. He's busily making all those memories "his" by repeated and vigorous cheek rubbing against every.single.box. He's a very busy cat, what with all the new ownership responsibilities of not only the boxes, but of the two new-to-him chairs in my bedroom, the new placement of my bed (it's an experiment, I'm still not sure I'm sold on the whole "diagonal" thing), the new chair in the Things' room, the two new armoires, and several new side tables. Why, this very moment he's racing around the house marvelling at all the new stuff, zipping from room to room just blowing his little kitty mind with all the ob-zhay he now has to include in the inventory of "all things Albert's."

I wonder what he thinks of the change. The Scandanavian sparseness of the Tiny House's former decorating scheme has been upended. We are now well stocked with blasts from the past, in completely noncoordinating styles. There's a Queen Anne coffee table in my Mission-style living room, there are rust-colored Americana-style recliners (one of which is so badly broken that it needs to be propped against the wall to prevent comically exaggerated saggage) and a cherry side table in my bedroom that are currently threatning to establish a theme that I'm not completely comfortable with, there is a hugemongous armoire in the corner of my bedroom that goes with nothing but has been mine since I was 12 and therefore must remain mine, and I'm not even going to talk about the sewing machine cabinet except to say that I sure hope my grandma (bless her soul) appreciates me still having that beast.

The sick and twisted part of all this "stuff incursion? There's an empty corner in my bedroom that I now feel the need to fill with something. I was happy with it being empty yesterday. Now it looks bare.

Maybe that's where I should put the boxes. Maybe then the hushed whispers of the past will work their way into my mind as I sleep, populating my dreams with images of times gone by, or history to be revealed.

It's worth a shot, and might be preferable to using my kitchen-as-obstacle course.

Sure hope Albert is up for another change in scenery.

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UPDATE (after spending some time unpacking):

Apparently I like books. A LOT of books. Boxes and boxes of books.

One of which is my diary from college, which I spent 45 minutes reading this afternoon. OMG y'all, O.M.G. I discovered two now-remembered BFs that should have made the list of 12 from the other day. I dated a COMEDIAN, y'all, and forgot all about it! JeeEEEEeeez.

This diary, plus the recently-discovered one from my mid-20s, have reintroduced me to a me I almost forget. I find me fascinating. Shallow and nerve-wracked, yes, but fascinating nonetheless. Heh, who knows? Maybe I'll transcribe some of the material herein....just for fun.