The Box.

Once upon a time - two years, ago, to be precise - there was a box.

It was the most convenient box, as it had no flaps, so if one were in need of a quick place to stash random anything, it was there with open arms, waiting to indefinitely hold whatever you had to offer.

I took advantage of this box quite a bit over the past two years.  First, it was my "Quick! Hide the mess because we have a showing!" box.  Then, it became my "I'm putting all the important papers to be filed in here because our filing cabinet is in storage." box.  Then it was my "Ugh... I do NOT want to see this or even think about dealing with it, right now, so I'm piling it in here." box.

It became my most dreaded enemy, the elephant in the room, even.  I hated it.  I avoided it.  I moved it from place to place making it seem like I was addressing the issue that was this box.

But, I never emptied it.

Like, ever.

It's because of this box I had to report a birth certificate missing and reorder a new one.

This box has been the bane of my existence since we moved to Montana almost two years, ago.

Lately, I've learned some things about myself that I have found quite troubling.  They've made me feel out of control of something I so desperately wish I had control over.

I had to control something.  Anything.

So, tonight, I did it.  I went through the box.  I emptied it of its contents to find two years' worth of, well, crap.  Receipts, lease agreements, first aid books, report cards, pictures, bills that have long since been paid, and, yes, birth certificates.  (Just not the one I lost.)

We have a fire pit in our backyard that will be very happy, this summer.

And I have an empty box.

Go me.