I’m sitting here amid a pile of boxes. We’re moving again – less than a year from the last move, but that’s okay because this is looking to be the last for a long while – but that reassurance doesn’t make it any easier to pack things up. Amidst all the non-packing, it dawned on me how much my choice in boxes says about me (and that it’ll be all out there for everyone to see as we lug things to the new place!).
The paper box. I scored this one from work, because I’m far too cheap to actually buy good, brand name, paper (Which, I suppose, was already implied by the fact that I refuse to buy boxes to pack my stuff in.). None-the-less the paper box is a tribute to the grossly enormous amount of trees we use each month for art supplies, math, schoolwork, printing my babies stories, revisions… yeh. At 5,000 sheets per box, everyone will know we do something that involves paper.
Among the pile there are a few blank ones, the kind you pay for. Remnants of the last move. Uniform in size, scribbled on in kid-color marker with things like SCBWI (I’m a member, ran my chapter’s silent auction until this year), or one of the various initials to indicate someone’s belongings. J. C. N… tiny hints to who we are.
There’s a mounting homage to my addiction to online shopping and Amazon. Black and orange tape and little arrow smiles that promise… something. Mostly things we’ll need to re-pack, now. And that random Simon & Schuster box. It held delights for someone, but I’m sure I got it second-hand. Still, you can guess that I’m a bit antisocial (why else shop online?) and we like books (we do, half of what I’ve packed is books).
And then there’s the medical supplies. These say the most, I think. No-one will doubt what profession I work in. Drape Sheets. Exam Gowns. Syringes. The medical field, obviously. They might even figure out nurse, if they’re lucky. The boxes labeled with the oral contraceptives and condoms they once held may throw the casual observer, though. No, I’m not that sexy. I don’t buy in bulk, but I think my husband would love it if you thought we did.
These disposable parallelograms cut little windows into our lives for all to see.