In the middle of my sucky mood, I continue to pack up my office. I hate the fact that I am such a clutterer, and I know I will not stop. Every time I have moved into an office, I have filled every shelf and niche with pictures, figures, flowers, and even little toys. All symbolic and quite pleasing to my eye. I can tell you what each item means to me, and who gave it to me or how I otherwise acquired it. All nice memories. My plants. Handmade afghans. If it wasn't for the fact that I try to keep everything in there neat, relatively clean, and organized, I'd worry about being labeled a hoarder. People love my office, and find it homey and restful. But it is a bear to pack up, and that's the point I am at now.
Like I said, sucky.