My stuff owns me.
Well, in truth it would like to, but it doesn't really.
I was looking around the apt last night thinking "How the hell am I going to get all this shit to New Mexico if I go?"
answer: Don't!
Seriously, this shit has been hanging around my neck for over a decade and I'm done with it. The electronics, the clothes, the cd's and artwork, and a few select pieces are all I need to keep. It'll all fit in the car. As for furniture? There's so damn much furniture in this world I'm confident I'll find more.
When I moved to San Francisco in the early 90's I sold everything I couldn't ship UPS. It was great. In truth I never liked the new couch and loveseat, the mattress and boxsprings are old and need replacing, the dining room chairs are nice to look at but in practice are torture devices, and the rest of the stuff is just that, stuff that's shown up in the last 10-12 years. To hell with it.
There's a sale in my future I can feel it.
Have I featured Nash/Mr Donahoo yet?
He's the wrestler from Nebraska who got tossed off the team for cranking one out on fratmentv.
Talk about corn-fed! I'll miss the midwest.
Love