The perks of being a pack rat

My old room here has a mind boggling amount of stuff. Since my Mom is planning on moving in the next year, and since this is likely to be the last time I'll be staying at home for over a week, I'm going through the innumerable shoeboxes of trinkets, notes, pictures, and mementos that I have been hoarding since 4th grade, when we moved here.

This picture is what happened when my dad handed me his camera when I was six.

It's strange to look through the "important" boxes of items I deemed valuable. I'm throwing out things I thought I would find important (student council campaign fliers, hundreds of inane notes passed between classes), and I'm discovering things that I previously considered common which I now cherish. This postcard my dad sent me when I went to camp one summer, for example (Chow Fun was his cat, and my dad used two different colored pens):

Dear Caroline
Chow Fun and I really miss you- he asks about you every day just before he eats. I hope you are having a good time. Chow Fun hopes you come back soon to feed him.
MDC + CF

I guess you had to know him.

In other news, post-college life just got a lot scarier. It's sad when things can't work out how you wish they would.