i like to collect things. i read a lot of books, i wear a lot of clothes (not at once... different outfits on different days), i wear different earrings every day of the week.
people may understand this in different ways. perhaps they assume i am commitment-phobic, thusly needing many options. perhaps they think i have embraced variety as the spice of life, like they say. maybe they just think i'm a nutter and there is no method or rhythm to my madness.
people can think what they like. any way you spin it i own a lot of things.
do you know why this is?? i'll tell you why, mother 'uckers: i work at a thrift store and i'm compulsive. that's the long and short of it. do i really need earwarmers made from rabbit (sorry ellie)? one earring that is over 20cm long made from feathers? a ceramic teddybear piggybank? a terminator 2 action figure? 12 different kinds of perfume? do i really truly need over 20 tshirts? actually, my good friend phill owns 3 tshirts and i do not find him to be any less rad, so i at least know the answer to that one: nope.
i'm moving house, and because the househunting did not go according to plan i have a month to sleepover at mikaela, annica, lisa, amy and charlie's house. so the amount of possesions really has to drop down to zero. or like, minus zero, if you can imagine such a number. to live out of one bag again, like the month when i first arrived in whistler, scares the bejeeesus out of me. almost as much as the prospect of not having adult sleepovers with a certain boy i know...
so moving is traumatic on a few different counts. what i do have to remember is that i got here with one suitcase and a guitar, and it's going to be ok.
packing has found me re-discovering all sorts of treasures i'd forgotten i owned. i have pieces of clothing that are fierce favorites for maybe a month, and then they fall to the back of the drawer and i forget them... and then i have to decide what makes the final cut. how you decide that is beyond me, it's like choosing your favorite family member.
here's the biggest secret of all, children: the only way to pack when you have to throw out lots of stuff as you go is to get drunk and blast hiphop. it makes you care way less, and make instantaneous decisions. i found it out last time i moved. it works a charm.
the flipside of this sad sad story is that i get to live with my swedish loves for a whole month, which is enough time to get sick of mika before she ABANDONS ME for australia, of all places. unbelievable. so rude. the betrayal!! the angst!! i've got hurt feelings.
i will miss her even more than i will miss all the stuff i don't keep when i move, and that, dear readers, is saying something. but it's a story for another time.
a wierd place to leave this, but i have some drunk packing to do.
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