I lost my box of Christmas stuff. I’m not missing that much, the only things I was sure I had possession of was stockings for my family and those had only been used four five years or so. I didn’t have our old ornaments. If anyone still has them it would be my dad and so they won’t be unearthed until the A&E crew shows up. (In fact the only ornaments I might have had were 27 wedding favors I painted with my sister and never found a use for.) Still, I’m bummed that I have Christmas items somewhere out there in the void. Including a pretty fantastic plush toilet lid cover with a giant Santa head on it.
As soon as I moved I was worried I had left a box or two there. Would have been buried under former roommate’s mess of belongings and I couldn’t find what I was looking for. Now I can’t ask my former roommate if she ever came across anything because I cut off communication totally and it needs to stay that way. (She is not a stable and reasonable person and she came to the conclusion I should pay 100% for a random repair to the apartment that was discovered by the landlords after I moved and she was moving out. I lived in this ancient apartment for the last year of the four that she occupied it. And that was after she believed I must have taken her mismatched Walmart bowls and silverware. When you pay rent, you shouldn’t have to deal with someone’s mental illness and I definitely didn’t want to deal with it after moving. ALSO! if I asked for compensation for the cookware she ruined or the kid’s library books she lost…Grr.) So. Doubt she would be helpful anyway.
The vague feeling that I was missing things has been bugging me and now I at least know they won’t be found. Last year the holidays were strange. My whole year was a huge transition. Now, I’m more settled.
I thought I had started over last summer. I’m just starting starting over over. (If only because it’s going so much better for me this time.) New stockings must be purchased. Oh Etsy, I’ve missed you my seductive friend.