thoughts on packing up my entire life

I am moving (destination unknown). Parents have sold the house I grew up in and are moving into an apartment. Therefore, I've spent the past few hours beginning to pack up slash throw out slash give away everything I own.

Reflections:
1. Donating a black cashmere turtleneck sweater, elbow length sleeves, which I love(d) but is way too pilly. Must replace.
2. Au revoir, Sawary 36's! Thou art the wonder jean. I still fit into thee, but I'm purging you as it is no longer a flattering fit. You served me well. Rest in peace.
3. Clothes carry such memories! And they're usually Boy-related! The pink sweater I wore when NonAsian and I tried to patch things up at a NYC diner, the black tube dress I bought during the summer of an awful Cat-gluing internship to impress Etchasketch, the olive green Juicy scoopneck I wore the first night ExBoy and I got together...
4. I can still squeeze myself into almost all of my jeans. This should not and does not mean I am keeping them.
5. My parents move out in August. My future husband will never see the house I grew up in.
6. There are some things that have absolutely zero purpose in my life that I still would rather die than throw out: a little rag doll my dad brought back for me from a business trip to Guatemala, with blue marker on her mouth where I gave her lipstick (terrible make-up job, I must say)... a brown paper bag that held wonton soup that Sebastian brought me when I was sick in high school. I held the bag upside down, and dozens of ticket stubs from our Sunday movie dates came pouring out.

To be continued?