Box

My box is almost always full, and feeling extra cumbersome lately. Sometimes when I stand up, I lose my balance and fall back down again because of the sheer weight and awkwardness.

Going up and down stairs is especially difficult, as is getting comfortable inside a bed. Getting up and down from a seated position is hard, too. I hate to be a complainer, but now that I've already started it's hard to stop.

I dress my box up with ribbons sometimes (usually blue), to distract. I'd use wrapping paper, but I'm too lazy if the truth be told, and can never get my edges folded properly. I like the curly-cue ribbons best, the kind you run a pair of scissors over and they get all bunched up. I tie a gardenia or two on there as well, and sometimes a stuffed bluebird, and the eyes start to wander and forget all about what's inside.

So much stuff! Old receipts, stale chocolates, hopes, dreams, fears, longings, browned banana peels, used-up car air-fresheners, empty lighters, half-drunk juice boxes, remnants, cracked jewels, brown crinkled-up paper lunch bags, ostrich feathers, sugar cones, half-baked ideas, old lovers, shampoo bottles, lollipops (the big round kind with different colored swirls). The list could go on and on. And does.

I've been trying to empty my box; twenty minutes twice a day. I set a timer. I twiddle my thumbs, and bite my lip. I open my eyes now and again, just to see what's going on. Twenty minutes is a long time. Or a very, very short time, depending on how full or empty my box is.

I might be scared to empty it completely, although it would be so much easier to carry around that way. So much lighter. Maybe I could down-grade to a smaller size? Maybe I could get a jewelry sized box, and keep only very small, priceless objects inside it, and chuck the rest by the side of the road, and speed away laughing, with the wind blowing through my hair and the radio on.