Moving

I can't believe I'm writing a 3rd thing in less than 24 hours. This could be a record.
It's probably my beautiful way of procrastinating from moving, which was my (and currently still is my) task du jour for the next two and a half days. I went to the Public Storage on Arroyo Pkwy this morning and scoped a storage space for my things, 5 hours later I'm sitting here typing away again because moving is miserable. I've probably done about a 1/3 of the work that I'm supposed to before this thing is done.. and that's just getting OUT of the house.

I want to throw everything I own away.

That's how moving makes me feel. I look at all this stuff that I never use because I'm never home and I think "WHY do I still have this?" But when I reach to the trash to toss a souvenir, I cower back to stop myself for some sentimental fear that I will forget. What, I can't throw away that coconut monkey yet? How many year will it stick with me? Thanks, KARA, for giving me this adorable little coconut monkey because now I will never be able to part with it FOREVER. It's been sitting in a box, it will remain in a box, but yet I can not throw the thing away.

This is why moving is miserable. The above paragraph, and the one below.

Nobody wants to move their things, they just want to move their body. It's easy to get in your car and drive to the next home. But that lovechair I have in the living room? Shred it. I don't care. And yet, like the coconut monkey, I can't part with the torn-up smelly chair (though I may have to, a 5x5 storage space doesn't cut it, chair). And the TV? It's covered in dust. It weighs 150 pounds of pure dead inanimate weight, has a frikkin VCR built in (which is awesome, by the way) and has several unremovable cables and cords dangling like an octopus. Moving it is like delivering a metal and plastic overweight infant.

What do you do with clothes you never wear?

NOT throw them away of course. I literally have to tear a shirt into two pieces in order for me to realize it's finished. One time i had a pair of boxers that had FAR more holes than is acceptable by most societies. But I kept wearing them, because there would always come a day when the laundry wasn't done and there they were staring me in the face with their many eye sockets. I'd put them on because they were available. One time I actually tossed the boxers into the garbage can, then a week later found myself digging through the same can looking for them because I had no time to do laundry and I needed some underwear.
How does the story end? One morning before stepping into the shower I half-awake tore them into two pieces, knowing that no matter what receptacle I put them into they still won't be wearable anymore. I moved on.

This is why I want to throw everything I have away.

So I can start from scratch, clean slate, no more pictures of exes or blue shoes I'll never wear, no more extraneous bathroom items or electronic devices with missing remotes, no more cumbersome keepsakes or piles of reread books, no more stuff to bog me down! If it doesn't fit into a backpack, CHUCK it!!
But you and I both know, I cannot.

What are you doing tomorrow?

Want to help me move? My favorite part about moving is buying those Mr Clean bars and whiping up everything you own with them. They're pure magic.

Gotta go to the play now.

Adios