Breathing Deeply: My Life With Cystic Fibrosis

I'm moving to Mars next week.
So if you have any boxes...
--Steven Wright

Okay, I'm not really moving to Mars. My group at work is being transferred to a different building down the road. We're at corporate headquarters right now, but we have to clear out so that the chief mucky-mucks (aka the suits) can take up this entire building. This means we get to pack. Hooray. There are several boxes and trashcans lining the very narrow hallway. Looks like we're going for a sort of refugee motif with all the cardboard decor.

I've only been here a year and a half, so I haven't accumulated much junk of the paper variety. (Some people's offices are a serious fire hazard with all the paper piled up everywhere!) I don't have any lingering attachments to every last rough draft I've ever written of a report, nor do I save all of the separate versions of whatever I'm working on. I wish I could apply this anti-packrat mentality to my apartment...hmmm...I feel a New Year's Resolution coming on.

I've spent most of the day packing a co-worker's stuff while he's out of town for one of our projects. Since discernment is one of my spiritual gifts, I feel confident that I have chosen the appropriate stuff that should be sent to the storage facility, and which should be deposited en la basura. Someone recently told me that we spend the first half of our lives accumulating things, and the second half throwing it out. Just goes to show that it's far better to store up our treasures in heaven than to just accumulate meaningless clutter here on earth.