I had my garage sale after an agonizing summer of having that shit all over my personal living space. My best friend’s gf showed up to keep me company; thank god. And the crap that didn’t sell went to the nieghbour (though I still feel really bad about giving her dog one of my favourite stuffed toys after I promised it it would go to a nicer home :( ), the rest fit neatly in the car and went to the Salvation Army. Nathan was helping me clean my kitchen, which my anxiety was, stupidly, preventing me from doing, and I borrowed the car and took my shit, huge monitor to be recycled, and took in the Queen bedframe he didn’t want and which the nice man assured me he had a spare wheel for.
I got some shit out of my dining room, and feel less like a slug of a failure. Now I just have to mend one of hte knapsacks so it’s worth giving away and sort some shit to go to the SA and take it down. Still trying to let go of some of Dad’s stuff. For christ’s sake, it’s lamely hard.
But don’t be misled; I’ve gotten rid of so much stuff I didn’t even think about. I’ve gone through everything and weeded down, and it feels so good because guiolt about possessions largely comes from your inability to make a firm decision about them. Since I’m moving that’s a great excuse to whittle my things down to a more understandable, memorable and dealable level. I’ve gone through everything, and I’ll do it again in 6 months until I have only everything I need and a little of what I want.
My house looks so nice now, by the way.
