A WhatsApp message from my brother announced the arrival of the goods from KL, Malaysia. Large cardboard boxes fill a reception room in his home each one containing items for me, none of which I want, asked for, or know what to do with.
I actually want to scream, ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do with this shit?’. How dare he give me hassle, stress, and items that are of no use, little value and desire, that I now have to sort, re-home, gift, and in some cases hopefully sell and in return gain a small financial return for my efforts.
I need a van to transport the boxes.
I have no spare time to organise.
I am actually at my wit’s end with knowing what to do, as my brother doesn’t want the boxes either!
I will find time to contact auctioneers and hope they might be interested.
If only Dad had actually asked me if I wanted any of this stuff. The effort it took him to pack and create the scrapbook catalogue of items for me and the cost of shipping. Why, is the biggest question. I guess he assumed these items had meaning for me. The past is the past, as this blog has evidenced. We move forwards, not backward and all these items are from a distant past I have no desire to connect with, relive or be part of.
This is my inheritance. FFS.