Every 10 or 15 years, some type of compulsion sweeps over me, and I dive into the unknown via some spot in the house that holds forgotten treasures. These pockets of denial are, for the most part, in plain sight, yet hidden away.
This time it was a drawer in a piece of furniture in the dining room. Each time I’d open this drawer it was full, yet I had no idea what was filling it. Slightly frustrated because it wouldn’t hold any more things that I wanted to keep for no apparent reason, I decided it was time to do something.