Bingeing and Purging

So I've started the moving out process.
I won't lie, moving is one of my least favorite things in the whole wide world.
I hate it.
One reason for this is that I have a tendency to hold onto total junk, old cards, little knickknacks, random crap like that, because I somehow manage to develop a sentimental attachment to it.
I've been like this ever since I was a little kid, hauling an empty sparkling cider bottle around with me for the better part of a week 'cause 1984 was the best year ever and I wanted to remember it.
So I have to force myself to get rid of stuff, which takes a lot of willpower on my part.
The nice thing is though, just how liberated I feel when I find something with really bad memories attached to it, and I get to throw it the fuck out.
That's just so orgasmically cathartic.
Today I got to throw out a bunch of papers pertaining to a time in my life when I was depressed, in trouble financially, and nearly at the headwaters of Shit Creek with various governmental bodies. I got to throw away pictures of myself from a time when I thought I had to look like a "responsible adult" (whatever the hell that is) and hated myself for it. I got to chuck reminders of crappy relationships and broken hearts into the dust bin.
I purged like an Olsen twin after Thanksgiving dinner.
As good as it is, it does leave one feeling a tad on the empty side, so to tackle that particular trouble, I'm hitting the town tonight.
Emphasis on hitting.
I'm gonna pimp-slap Rvk so hard it'll wake up in a new time zone.
I mean, how hard can it be to pack stuff up with a massive hangover?