I had moved out of my apartment, which morphed into my childhood bedroom. But when I went back to double-check for anything left behind, I'd left behind an entire wall of things. As I scratched my head (and griped a little) over how that could have happened, I got to work packing up the leftover items.
As that happened, the room began to fill up with more unpacked things, all taking the form of items I had in the room in 1999 — a secondhand entertainment center cabinet, a twin bed, a table heaped with junk and loose change and pictures, CDs and videotapes aplenty and a working version of the VCR that recently went bust.
The more I packed, the more items crowded me. I couldn't keep up.
My mom and brother came to the rescue. They brought my brother's old blue truck, which he hasn't owned since 1999, to load up. It had a very old inspection sticker and had trouble starting. We packed up the truck and a car — one he just sold in real life — to the seams, until I finally just gave up on the increasingly huge mountain of crap popping out of nowhere. A moving man (who was there for some reason) asked me what I wanted to do. "Let the new people have this stuff," I shrugged. I recall heading for a Dumpster after that, but decided to keep the entertainment cabinet for my new bedroom (in real life, I disposed of it years ago).
That seemed a lot more profound before I wrote it down.