Moody packing fish

I sit in the dark, snuggled on an old leather couch, surround by my things, pictures, souvenirs, and other random objects that hold special meaning for me. The large glass vase that holds matches, beads, tickets, and other items from the three years with my roommate. The picture of my grandmother at 18 all sexy and young, posed in her two piece swimsuit. The countless photos of family, friends and beloved puppies. A wooden bowl filled to the top with Texas quarters. A cricket ball which reminds me of an ex-love. I need to begin the process of placing them all in boxes, so that strangers can carry them away. I just can’t bring myself to do this. I am still undecided about where I want to go, I wonder if my choices are the right ones. So instead I ponder my fate and stare moodily at my things. Nothing packed, and now nothing organized just a jumble of things waiting to be relegated to either a new home, or the dumpster. I have told myself that I shall streamline with this move, that all of these objects are unnecessary. I want someone to tell me I am right and to force me into action. Obviously I can’t bring myself to do this. I would rather sit and pout in normal fish fashion, finally spurred into action simply because I have run out time.