In Praise of Boxes: those we have filled, those we have emptied, those we have built around us, those we think outside of, and those we carry around with us.

I spent the morning organizing my email inboxes.  Plural. I have instituted a fierce new policy regarding new emails; after reading it must be filed in the appropriate box (there are more than three dozen options) or it is deleted. Already I feel so much more in control. I checked the spam file on my personal email, 343 entries. Scary. I deleted them all, without looking, and I bet if I check again, now three hours later, there will be a generous selection of appeals for penis enhancements, free ipads, fast and easy loans, and internet dating sites.  It may be time to get a new email address. Of course, now that I have it all organized.

I also reorganized my closet, including adding the old kleenex box to one drawer to hold my socks. Not only do socks lose their mates in the dryer around here, they also go missing in the drawer. Sock confinement is the answer.

Yesterday I bought compartmentalized boxes for the office. I don’t know what I will put in them, much less where I will put them, but really a few spare boxes are never a bad idea.

The garden is growing in big boxes, made of landscape timbers filled with soil.

Even my books could be considered boxes, boxes of words, strung along, compartmentalized in chapters or sections, serialized on numbered pages.

I drive a box on wheels. I live in an irregular stack of boxes. I sleep on a box. I keep my food in boxes. I wash my clothes in a box. My books are in boxes with no covers.

Even this computer I am using to write this is nothing more than a box of unfathomable micro chips and wires. At least I think wires are still used in computers. Maybe not. I will resist the temptation to take this box apart to find out. I’ll use that google box on the computer instead.

I am waiting for a box. There is a package of books I ordered from the UK on its way to this address. If it fits, the mail carrier will put it in the mailbox.

I am thinking there really can’t be too many boxes. Whether filled or emptied, around us or next to us, confining or expansive there is always something you can do with a box.

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