Ive returned home after a three sleep stint across the muddy shores. With each visit the anticipation of my pending relocation grows. Victoria is aglow temporariness. With 86 days to go, and much to accomplish, I feel like a squirrel in september. Looking around this small apartment Im setting targets on the masses of shit Ive accumulated and scoping what I can sell or give away or throw away. There is lots. Im sure I will -as is custom apparently in this city- lay my hinderances out on the curb for a few days and see what gets scavenged away by the neighborhood savages.
Moving is great in that its an opportunity to downsize you meaningless worldly posessions to a minimum. A sort of clean slate chance to really look at the shit you carry around with you whittle away the unnecessary. Its kind of liberating, yeah? Sure that gawdy powder blue mug depicting four beagles shredding a dead pheasant is cool, but is it really worthy to cross water with me? Well maybe it is.
A short tally of what I can spy with my little eye: a pile of outdated plastic dumbell weights. About 300 plastic slurpee cups (no joke). A dozen books Ill never read as long as I live. piles and piles of rocks and seashells and sticks that I for some reason feel the need to schlep home every time I visit the seashore. An entire box of mismatched socks nearly all with holes in them – why do I have these? Strategically placed piles of chestnuts to ward off eight legged attackers. Endless three foot lengths of yarn…. the list goes on and on and on. Chucking out the ever growing stack of Vogue magazines always hurts a little, but its necesary. Although Im keeping the Sarah Jessica Parker SATC one, Im too gay to part with it.
As is customary in my life… especially when changing residances I leave things to the last 48 and then scramble around like a wild animal in a cloud of tissue paper and windex and tears trying to get everything done in such short time. This time I have learnt my lesson. I have a to-do list. This month is for preparing physically. Stashing money like Tammy Faye. Sanding the coffee stains of my tragically porous counter top. De-scumming the shower (that will be a monumental task no doubt). Junking out all the shit in here I dont want / need. Scour the cupboards. Swab the decks. The carpets can wait till the time is nigh. I could de-ice the freezer, but I doubt it.