Greetings! Here we go, off to what will be a rickety, creaky and hopefully not too painful start. Anna says we will all shed our possessions and walk free in this life. I think she was trying to be funny.
Shedding possessions is much more difficult than one would imagine. Anybody want to buy a futon? Fund my road trip? Apparently not.
I'm at 9 days until my departure from this culturally wretched place and the process of shedding Things has become more like an archaeological dig than I had anticipated. It's awful. In the past two months I've gone feral--where ever anything lands, that's where it stays. Dishes get done when I can't fit anything else in the sink. Food gets removed from the refrigerator when the stink is too unbearable to open the door for much longer than 30 seconds without causing the first layer of epidermis to peel off... In my bedroom, the strata are particularly fascinating: The superficial layers are of paper, below that we find layers of dirt from the kitten's plant-excavating hobby. Below the papers and dirt I've found a downy layer of dog hair and even further below that is the layer of important-things-I-thought-I-lost.
I've got to fit everything I want to keep in my Corolla. Even then, anything I take with me will be stored for at least a year while I'm off traipsing about Europe. I suppose if I can live without it for a whole year, I probably don't really need it. This new transient lifestyle I'm embracing is exciting--and I'm lucky to have transience as a choice.
So as the week goes on, Things leave in trunk-loads, never to return. It's liberating.
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