This stayed a draft for almost a year...So many things to share after so long.

I just can't catch you up. 

You will just have to start with me here, now. 

The most important thing to say is that we are selling our home of 30 years. 

We've been talking about it for almost a year now and we are finally doing to hard work of sorting out the basement. It's not a great basement. But it's been a great place to put all the stuff that we (mostly I) didn't know what to do with. 

 Hi, my name is Sheron and I'm a Pack Rat. 

Growing up the child of parents who were children in the Great Depression, anything that wasn't actively rotting, on fire, or in splinters could be useful some day. 

 To my shame, there are boxes we moved here 30 years ago that got put in the basement that are still sealed with the tape from 30 years ago. 

All of them, of course, are my stuff. A better me would just go and put them in the trash. But I just can't. I'm taking our wonderful relator's advice to take pictures of things I just can't part with. That's been a good idea. 

 I've asked a group of artists if I can send them boxes of vintage paper and a few of them seem excited by the idea. 

 I've sorted two boxes and a desk drawer, and there are still five boxes of paper stuff I've pack ratted - some since I was in junior high. 

This is no mean feat that these are still with me as when I was in my 20's I moved almost every six months. I suspect that my parents, when they were alive, hid boxes when they visited. After all, pack ratting was a skill they taught me. 

Things were going great, I'd been able to chug through things finding old photos and some cool old magazines. Here's what got me here. A box half full of love letters from old boyfriends and old diaries. 

What the hell do I do with these? 
My memory is not good - so many years, so few memories, I tend to hang onto things to help me remember what I've done and where I've been. Who knows why I don't make memories well - but remember dumb things like jingles from commercial and all of the Monkees. But having a pretty traumatic childhood with physical abuse, falling off horses multiple times, and a couple of bad car accidents are probably good places to start looking for causes. 

Opening the boxes, there was a waterfall of envelopes written by so many boys. Some of whom I even remembered loving. 

I just can't. I don't know what to do.

This is really hard.