Don’t we all wish there were storage facilities for our emotional baggage? Or maybe that is just a “girl thing,” or to be even more precise, a “me thing.” Male or female, though, I feel no matter what we all have some amount of emotional baggage. Traumas from your past which, lets be honest, we all have had, unavoidably and definitely impact your present and future. The difference arises in whether it fits into a fanny-pack or a hockey equipment bag. One you can carry around freely where the only consequence is drawing disdainful glance at your queer attire, while the other is impossible to bring anywhere without knocking people over and taking up a massive amount of space on the elevator.
i have some storage and i don’t know what it is about but it should be kind of fun to use. i don’t like clutter so it really is a good thing to have. you just stick it all in storage. clutter is ok if it is all confined to one spot. maybe i will get a storage junk drawer type thing too it would be a smart thing to do.
storage? wtf is that i have no idea where that it. well its on the corner of box and tape. ohh yu mean mr crazxys housr?! yea yea that place. can u belive that guy for living in a storage center is that even legal? idk man thats fucking weird mabe he is government.
I hide things in storage. Storage would be a good place to play hide and go seek. You could hide in all sorts of boxes and usually storage areas are HUGE! Imagine all the possibilities… I want my own storage area.
We have a storage shed out back. Many things can be found in there–old bicycles, newspapers, machinery from the past, lots of memories, I’m sure. Rustic old wood, nails and
The packing away, the hiding, the discarding of reality. Why keep something around once it is played out. Is that any way to treat the things that watched you grow up?
Storage places are full of crap we all buy and they are useless unless we empty them out, then some poor hobos have a place to live or something. Poor poor hobos.
how and where you keep stuff. Extra things, for prosperity or because it’s rubbish. For the packrats or for the organized. A place to store memories and ideas and leftover things that don’t go anywhere.
Marlene was glad she had kept up payments on the rental storage property. The dark, square container was the perfect place to store the steamer trunk containing Conrad’s remains.
i keep them in my attic. gathering dust. memories are quiet things you know. but they do come crashing down, eventually. all at once. and you can’t breathe. but you can think and feel and remember. and live.
I shuffled through the storage closet. I had to find that ring! Okay, retrce your steps. You were up here looking for your old hula skirt and when you by back downstairs it wasn’t on your finger anymore. How hard could it be to find a ring in a small storage closet?
Oh man everyone has so much storage!
IN a house, storage is a good thing. but is it really good in the human brain?
The pressure, or workload, for the average american student is definitely trying on their storage. But does this really build success?
if we stretch it out now, it will have no sustainability for the future.
i like to put alot of things in boxes not really im just writing about the word storage. it makes me think of moving out. i want to do that but i dont think i’ll have enough boxes to put all of my stuff in.
There is so many places you can store things. I tend to store all my emotions in a specific place in my heart. I just wish that my emotions would stop being stored and would just be used. But that’s the issue I store my emotions to the point where there is no room left and then it explodes.
i but all of my clothes in storage becausae my went to a nursing home and i had no were to go so im in a group home now i love here and i want to build her a house one day.
Storage. My furniture is in storage at a nice little place down the road. My feelings on the other hand, are quite contradictory. Lately, they have been coming out of storage and hitting me hard.
i went to the storage unit with my dad today. all that was left there was a chair. a floral chair that wasnt ous. next to it was a desk and a lamp and a book. i took the book home
Putting your memories in a box, you decide to put them in storage. There they lay dormant for possible years before being stumbled upon a random day. Looking back makes you happy to realize that through those years, you’ve become a better person and are truly happy now.
Storage keeps everything that we haven’t organized hidden away of boxes. It allows us to keep our shame of disorder from the judging eyes of others. It allows us to keep up the facade that everything in our lives is perfect. That everything is in order. That everything has a place.
I have a storage unit, because I moved out of my apartment into my parents house. Its a waste of money and too expesive. But I had no other choice. I have too much shit, and thats that. I even hold some of my boyfriends stuff there.
A place to keep and hold anything. A place for knowledge a place to store and a place for empty thoughts. A place where anything can grow. A place for words, thoughts, and any matter God ever created.
wow is there ever enough storage for all of my shit? I know that I should be trying to keep paring down all of my belongings and work with what I have. I know it’s mor than what a lot of other people get. I am so envious of those folks who live in teeny tiny NYC one-room apartments that are decorated so fabulously and they live so simply that it looks easy to not have piles, overflowing closets and a tower of plastic bins.
My mother has a storage unit that she has to run for a company she hates. She always calls and complains to me about her entire life and problems. I hate hearing about it. I wish she’d shut up. I’m not her therapist. I care about her and her sanity, but I don’t want to hear about every detail of her painful job or life with my father. I just don’t care anymore – I’m too exhausted.
I raised the storage container door and an awful smell hit me, like a slap. I gagged, reflexively. Covering my face, I stumbled backwards. “Come here!” I shouted to my sister. We looked in and found the smell. It wasn’t alive. Anymore.
The storage room smelled musty and old. I could feel the swoosh of memories flowing through the room. The memories brought tears to my eyes because I knew that my little sister wouldnt have these memories.
In the winter of my fourth grade year, in the midst of a move from a small house to a smaller apartment, my family rented out a storage unit. Being nine, I had no comprehension of the sadness that accompanied the move, or the shame of having more stuff than we could handle gracefully; didn’t understand why my parents shuffled to our unit with a nervous urgency, formidable towers of white moving boxes in tow.
For my part, I liked visiting our unit. I’d wander down the corridors with my brother and become happily lost. Sometimes we’d wheedle our father into taking out our bicycles (which had no place in our small apartment), and we’d wheel proudly through the facility, passing along the way innumerable other unit owners, furtive as my parents, their own children hidden in corners and stilled with a Game Boy or a scolding.
Don’t we all wish there were storage facilities for our emotional baggage? Or maybe that is just a “girl thing,” or to be even more precise, a “me thing.” Male or female, though, I feel no matter what we all have some amount of emotional baggage. Traumas from your past which, lets be honest, we all have had, unavoidably and definitely impact your present and future. The difference arises in whether it fits into a fanny-pack or a hockey equipment bag. One you can carry around freely where the only consequence is drawing disdainful glance at your queer attire, while the other is impossible to bring anywhere without knocking people over and taking up a massive amount of space on the elevator.
i have some storage and i don’t know what it is about but it should be kind of fun to use. i don’t like clutter so it really is a good thing to have. you just stick it all in storage. clutter is ok if it is all confined to one spot. maybe i will get a storage junk drawer type thing too it would be a smart thing to do.
storage? wtf is that i have no idea where that it. well its on the corner of box and tape. ohh yu mean mr crazxys housr?! yea yea that place. can u belive that guy for living in a storage center is that even legal? idk man thats fucking weird mabe he is government.
“Storage? What do you mean?” he asks.
“I want to store some clothes.” I reply.
“What for? Why don’t you wear them?” he looks at me with narrowed eyes, like I’m being suspicious or something.
I shrug my shoulders. “Just running out of wardrobe space.” I tell him.
“Then get another wardrobe you jack-ass.” he says, then shuts the door in my face.
storage is a place to put things you no longer want around.
Where to keep the mental storage, the locked away hard mind mined for memories with faded patches and rips of hoar.
I hide things in storage. Storage would be a good place to play hide and go seek. You could hide in all sorts of boxes and usually storage areas are HUGE! Imagine all the possibilities… I want my own storage area.
We have a storage shed out back. Many things can be found in there–old bicycles, newspapers, machinery from the past, lots of memories, I’m sure. Rustic old wood, nails and
S
Mrs. Humberdinck looked at the hatbox suspiciously. “I’m not sure about this…” she began.
“Don’t worry,” Dax Dirkly replied. “The target’s the only one who will get hurt.”
“It just seems so…”
“Messy?”
“Well, yes.”
The packing away, the hiding, the discarding of reality. Why keep something around once it is played out. Is that any way to treat the things that watched you grow up?
Storage places are full of crap we all buy and they are useless unless we empty them out, then some poor hobos have a place to live or something. Poor poor hobos.
how and where you keep stuff. Extra things, for prosperity or because it’s rubbish. For the packrats or for the organized. A place to store memories and ideas and leftover things that don’t go anywhere.
Marlene was glad she had kept up payments on the rental storage property. The dark, square container was the perfect place to store the steamer trunk containing Conrad’s remains.
i keep them in my attic. gathering dust. memories are quiet things you know. but they do come crashing down, eventually. all at once. and you can’t breathe. but you can think and feel and remember. and live.
19 years worth of shit in storage
For a lack of a home to place it
I shuffled through the storage closet. I had to find that ring! Okay, retrce your steps. You were up here looking for your old hula skirt and when you by back downstairs it wasn’t on your finger anymore. How hard could it be to find a ring in a small storage closet?
Oh man everyone has so much storage!
IN a house, storage is a good thing. but is it really good in the human brain?
The pressure, or workload, for the average american student is definitely trying on their storage. But does this really build success?
if we stretch it out now, it will have no sustainability for the future.
i like to put alot of things in boxes not really im just writing about the word storage. it makes me think of moving out. i want to do that but i dont think i’ll have enough boxes to put all of my stuff in.
There is so many places you can store things. I tend to store all my emotions in a specific place in my heart. I just wish that my emotions would stop being stored and would just be used. But that’s the issue I store my emotions to the point where there is no room left and then it explodes.
if your heart is a storage place of memories and emotion, how do you organize it to keep the hurt in the right places
i but all of my clothes in storage becausae my went to a nursing home and i had no were to go so im in a group home now i love here and i want to build her a house one day.
Storage. My furniture is in storage at a nice little place down the road. My feelings on the other hand, are quite contradictory. Lately, they have been coming out of storage and hitting me hard.
i went to the storage unit with my dad today. all that was left there was a chair. a floral chair that wasnt ous. next to it was a desk and a lamp and a book. i took the book home
Putting your memories in a box, you decide to put them in storage. There they lay dormant for possible years before being stumbled upon a random day. Looking back makes you happy to realize that through those years, you’ve become a better person and are truly happy now.
I like storage. Not physical things. BUt mental things.
Storage keeps everything that we haven’t organized hidden away of boxes. It allows us to keep our shame of disorder from the judging eyes of others. It allows us to keep up the facade that everything in our lives is perfect. That everything is in order. That everything has a place.
storage containers suck?
I have a storage unit, because I moved out of my apartment into my parents house. Its a waste of money and too expesive. But I had no other choice. I have too much shit, and thats that. I even hold some of my boyfriends stuff there.
A place to keep and hold anything. A place for knowledge a place to store and a place for empty thoughts. A place where anything can grow. A place for words, thoughts, and any matter God ever created.
i store everything. in my mind. in my body. i want to be buried with it. put it in my casket. lock it away forever.
wow is there ever enough storage for all of my shit? I know that I should be trying to keep paring down all of my belongings and work with what I have. I know it’s mor than what a lot of other people get. I am so envious of those folks who live in teeny tiny NYC one-room apartments that are decorated so fabulously and they live so simply that it looks easy to not have piles, overflowing closets and a tower of plastic bins.
My mother has a storage unit that she has to run for a company she hates. She always calls and complains to me about her entire life and problems. I hate hearing about it. I wish she’d shut up. I’m not her therapist. I care about her and her sanity, but I don’t want to hear about every detail of her painful job or life with my father. I just don’t care anymore – I’m too exhausted.
I raised the storage container door and an awful smell hit me, like a slap. I gagged, reflexively. Covering my face, I stumbled backwards. “Come here!” I shouted to my sister. We looked in and found the smell. It wasn’t alive. Anymore.
a place to put things
that would be it, the heads in Hagerty’s storage barn.
nmmbnm
The storage room smelled musty and old. I could feel the swoosh of memories flowing through the room. The memories brought tears to my eyes because I knew that my little sister wouldnt have these memories.
j
In the winter of my fourth grade year, in the midst of a move from a small house to a smaller apartment, my family rented out a storage unit. Being nine, I had no comprehension of the sadness that accompanied the move, or the shame of having more stuff than we could handle gracefully; didn’t understand why my parents shuffled to our unit with a nervous urgency, formidable towers of white moving boxes in tow.
For my part, I liked visiting our unit. I’d wander down the corridors with my brother and become happily lost. Sometimes we’d wheedle our father into taking out our bicycles (which had no place in our small apartment), and we’d wheel proudly through the facility, passing along the way innumerable other unit owners, furtive as my parents, their own children hidden in corners and stilled with a Game Boy or a scolding.