I am now taking applications for a new filthy assistant to accompany me to the Adams Morgan Street Festival on Sunday. Tonto is currently off in the far north doing strange things with his horses, and won’t be back in time. There will be loud music, crazy people, and bad food. Cheap crap will be sold at immense prices from behind a card table in the middle of the street. Can you think of a better way to finish a day with sore feet that smell like charcoal smoke?
I finally broke down today and uncrated the last of my items from NY. My sculpture made it through unscathed, thanks no doubt to the many hours of newspaper-scrunching, done by my mother and I.
I love getting stuff in the mail. So it’s not that I am simply lazy, that I avoided unpacking. I have many involved reasons for being too lazy to unpack. My apartment generally exists just slightly to the losing side of homeostasis. Everything has its place, so long as I go through once or twice a month and repair collapsing shelves and unbury the chairs from piles of jackets. But this means bringing in 3 large boxes of childhood memories and college detritus can completely throw off the balance.
My closet is a little scary on a good day. Bring in an additional 22 years of memories, and we have a problem, Houston. God I didn’t wanna have to clean out my closet. I just got it to the point were it was so full, things couldn’t fall over anymore. What more could I want?!
I would say it is pretty much impossible to clean out your apartment in order to find space for all your childhood tchatchkes, without getting philosophical about the implications. Making yourself whole… a unified vision of yourself… coming to terms with your past and present… crap like that. I’m really trying to avoid it, though. As far as I can tell, I don’t have a whole lot of unresolved childhood issues. I’d like to keep it that way. Fuck… just using the term “childhood issues” makes me cringe.
I’ll tell ya, what did make me ponderous is the sheer amount of stuff I had in storage “just in case” and for “future use at some unknown time”. You know… boxes, and picture frames and crutches and… Good god. I have this vision of myself living a very clean, uncomplicated life. I want to be that person in the story who has exactly what they need, and nothing more. Somehow, I don’t think that involves hoarding “maybe” stuff. A little more stable than just Bohemian… but not quite “comfortable”.
Gawd, this place looks like hell. And I’ve already taken the larger stuff to the trash room. At least Pixel is happy. There’s nothing better to her than a pile of garbage to sleep on.
Anyone want some crutches?