The Poet's Room

  Sisyphus Condemned to Moving     Moving and down sizing, I must confess to suffering a peculiar form of insanity. Depression upon opening boxes in the basement that had lived down there undisturbed since the last move. Fifteen years of long forgotten Stuff. Would it be okay even smart to just throw the Stuff all away without looking inside. Just let it go. Yes it would have been. No it wasn't to be. Proof of a certain form of insanity. Oh, to put a positive spin on the stuff of memories like slides and slide projector so on and so forth sounds fine.       Depressed Donkey Then there's antique chairs that haven't had a human butt sit in them for twenty, thirty, forty years or more. Then there's the felt guilt of waste and wasted money.  Truth will out. Therefore I must confess to a form of insanity. (My wife shares this disease too whether she will admit it or not.) Neighbors too report a similar experience of packed boxes moved then left unopened. Although maybe not