![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jul. 29th, 2001
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
What a weekend...
Jul. 29th, 2001 09:05 pmOh, now there is no sound - for we all live underground
--Jamiroquai
I am drinking a very large, somewhat conical glass of Stolichnaya vodka, cleverly disguised as a martini. Funny, just add an olive and the deception is complete...
House is closing on Tuesday, after which I hope to be flush with equity (after closing costs, realtor commissions, and half diverted to the soon-to-be-ex along with an extra chunk representing next month's alimony). Until then, I still needed to remove stuff generated by four years of living in that house, multiplied by six years of marriage and an extra two of living together. I thought on Friday that I could be done by tonight...heh.
I bribed my brother with a game of golf yesterday to come up from Macon (about an hour south of here) and help me move my washer and drier into my new place. The bribe worked, and I almost shot my best game ever...almost because it got too dark (on the 18th, yet) to play. Keep in mind that "my best game ever" still involves three digits, so the score will remain unpublished.
This left today, the day I planned to whip in and out of the house in three hours, grabbing the last of the stuff and cramming it into an already overstuffed storage space. Ten hours later, I'm bashed and bruised and scuffed, and still don't have everything out. Almost all of it, though -- I just need to make a couple very large trips to the dump and I'm set.
Moving is, of course, always a nostalgia generator. Four years is the longest I've lived in any house in my entire life (check my profile page for places I've lived). Add this to eight years in Atlanta, which is the longest I've lived in any city in my life (though I'm now in my fifth dwelling). How does a person accumulate so much useless stuff? My new little apartment is crammed with items I'm eventually going to get rid of, or shuffle into storage when I get rid of most of that.
*pause* I'm buzzing already on the vodka. I must have exerted myself mor than I thought *unpause*
I feel like I'm some sort of yuppie ascetic -- I'm going from a 2500 square foot house to a 700 square foot apartment, cutting back on my material goods out of necessity. Self defense, even. I am ending my marriage out of ... necessity and perhaps self defense. I'm keeping my books. I'm absolutely, no kidding, completely buried in books. They take up an entire wall of my new place, knee high, stacked three rows deep. I'm keeping my cooking utensils -- I love to cook for almost spiritual reasons, which may be the subject of another post. I have some things of sentiment, a lot of items of professional interest ... and the only painting I painted in the early nineties that I a) still have and b) still like. I need to perform more art. Writing, painting, sketching, music...I'm not sure which, I've done all in the past, but my soul needs it and it would complete my yuppie ascetic paradox.
--Jamiroquai
I am drinking a very large, somewhat conical glass of Stolichnaya vodka, cleverly disguised as a martini. Funny, just add an olive and the deception is complete...
House is closing on Tuesday, after which I hope to be flush with equity (after closing costs, realtor commissions, and half diverted to the soon-to-be-ex along with an extra chunk representing next month's alimony). Until then, I still needed to remove stuff generated by four years of living in that house, multiplied by six years of marriage and an extra two of living together. I thought on Friday that I could be done by tonight...heh.
I bribed my brother with a game of golf yesterday to come up from Macon (about an hour south of here) and help me move my washer and drier into my new place. The bribe worked, and I almost shot my best game ever...almost because it got too dark (on the 18th, yet) to play. Keep in mind that "my best game ever" still involves three digits, so the score will remain unpublished.
This left today, the day I planned to whip in and out of the house in three hours, grabbing the last of the stuff and cramming it into an already overstuffed storage space. Ten hours later, I'm bashed and bruised and scuffed, and still don't have everything out. Almost all of it, though -- I just need to make a couple very large trips to the dump and I'm set.
Moving is, of course, always a nostalgia generator. Four years is the longest I've lived in any house in my entire life (check my profile page for places I've lived). Add this to eight years in Atlanta, which is the longest I've lived in any city in my life (though I'm now in my fifth dwelling). How does a person accumulate so much useless stuff? My new little apartment is crammed with items I'm eventually going to get rid of, or shuffle into storage when I get rid of most of that.
*pause* I'm buzzing already on the vodka. I must have exerted myself mor than I thought *unpause*
I feel like I'm some sort of yuppie ascetic -- I'm going from a 2500 square foot house to a 700 square foot apartment, cutting back on my material goods out of necessity. Self defense, even. I am ending my marriage out of ... necessity and perhaps self defense. I'm keeping my books. I'm absolutely, no kidding, completely buried in books. They take up an entire wall of my new place, knee high, stacked three rows deep. I'm keeping my cooking utensils -- I love to cook for almost spiritual reasons, which may be the subject of another post. I have some things of sentiment, a lot of items of professional interest ... and the only painting I painted in the early nineties that I a) still have and b) still like. I need to perform more art. Writing, painting, sketching, music...I'm not sure which, I've done all in the past, but my soul needs it and it would complete my yuppie ascetic paradox.