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Packing proceeds forthwith.
It’s bizarre what one decides to keep and what to throw away. Similarly perplexing what other people (for which read, Freecycler hoards) want that used to belong to you and what they won’t touch.
How could anyone in their right mind prefer 6 Novels By Hack Writer of Political Thrillers, Richard North Patterson to a real live functioning Ant Farm?
I kept all the science fiction/fantasy/horror novels even though I haven’t read science fiction or fantasy, oh, in about 25 years. (Still do read horror occasionally.) I gave away all the non-fiction by controversial women writers – Susan Faludi, Susan Sontag, Camille Paglia – but kept Bridget Jones’ Diary. Kept all my short story collections (hundreds of those, I’m afraid – I intend to spend my dotage receiving rejection letters from The New Yorker.) Don’t know what to do with the collection of dowager evening wear – it’s hideously ugly, suitable only for attending Queen Elizabeth II’s wake should she ever die; on the other hand, if I keep them, another dotage option becomes learning how to sew and making them over into prom gowns a la Molly Ringwold in Pretty In Pink. Decisions, decisions!
The furniture is mostly horrible – I’m not sure even Good Will will want that hideous couch.
I worked so hard yesterday I got shooting pains in my legs around 6pm and had to remind myself, you’re old now, there’s a limit to how much you can physically do. Crawled into bed with the Meezer, 2 cartons of Brown Cow yogurt (cream top) and afore-mentioned Bridgit Jones, still funny on the fifth re-read. Watched Obama charm on Sixty Minutes. Restrained self from throwing Brown Cow yogurt containers at televised head of charming but undeniably disingenuous Obama: why do you keep calling them “bonuses?” You know that’s a misnomer, deliberately used to incite!
Fell asleep early. Woke up every two hours.
Woke up for the last time at 5am to a frantic text from B: alternator not working!!!!!!
Ten minutes later, another text: never mind, all well now.
Only by then I was in full hand-shaking, tachycardiac adrenalin throttle. Must figure out a way – in a supportive, affectionate manner of course – to dissuade B from texting me at 5 in the morning when I can’t do a goddamn thing but worry!
Meanwhile, Rolling Stone has an extremely entertaining and informative piece on the AIG meltdown. My favorite line: In fact, there was such a crush to underwrite CDOs that it became hard to find enough subprime mortgages — read: enough unemployed meth dealers willing to buy million-dollar homes for no money down — to fill them all.
It’s bizarre what one decides to keep and what to throw away. Similarly perplexing what other people (for which read, Freecycler hoards) want that used to belong to you and what they won’t touch.
How could anyone in their right mind prefer 6 Novels By Hack Writer of Political Thrillers, Richard North Patterson to a real live functioning Ant Farm?
I kept all the science fiction/fantasy/horror novels even though I haven’t read science fiction or fantasy, oh, in about 25 years. (Still do read horror occasionally.) I gave away all the non-fiction by controversial women writers – Susan Faludi, Susan Sontag, Camille Paglia – but kept Bridget Jones’ Diary. Kept all my short story collections (hundreds of those, I’m afraid – I intend to spend my dotage receiving rejection letters from The New Yorker.) Don’t know what to do with the collection of dowager evening wear – it’s hideously ugly, suitable only for attending Queen Elizabeth II’s wake should she ever die; on the other hand, if I keep them, another dotage option becomes learning how to sew and making them over into prom gowns a la Molly Ringwold in Pretty In Pink. Decisions, decisions!
The furniture is mostly horrible – I’m not sure even Good Will will want that hideous couch.
I worked so hard yesterday I got shooting pains in my legs around 6pm and had to remind myself, you’re old now, there’s a limit to how much you can physically do. Crawled into bed with the Meezer, 2 cartons of Brown Cow yogurt (cream top) and afore-mentioned Bridgit Jones, still funny on the fifth re-read. Watched Obama charm on Sixty Minutes. Restrained self from throwing Brown Cow yogurt containers at televised head of charming but undeniably disingenuous Obama: why do you keep calling them “bonuses?” You know that’s a misnomer, deliberately used to incite!
Fell asleep early. Woke up every two hours.
Woke up for the last time at 5am to a frantic text from B: alternator not working!!!!!!
Ten minutes later, another text: never mind, all well now.
Only by then I was in full hand-shaking, tachycardiac adrenalin throttle. Must figure out a way – in a supportive, affectionate manner of course – to dissuade B from texting me at 5 in the morning when I can’t do a goddamn thing but worry!
Meanwhile, Rolling Stone has an extremely entertaining and informative piece on the AIG meltdown. My favorite line: In fact, there was such a crush to underwrite CDOs that it became hard to find enough subprime mortgages — read: enough unemployed meth dealers willing to buy million-dollar homes for no money down — to fill them all.
