Becoming a minimalist

It's a little too early to admit defeat but this packing thing is whipping my ass. It's not the effort. It's not the hauling out, wrapping up, stacking, digging through, hoisting, pushing, shoving or walking through the maze of packed boxes.

It's the fact that this shit simply won't end!

The more I pull out of drawers and cabinets, the more shit I find. Where did it all come from? I don't remember buying all this stuff. Yeah, I can blame it on B - he's lived in this apartment for twenty years but most of the stuff doesn't seem to be related to him.

Now I'm being brutal with myself. If it's a book I read and hasn't made it to my list of all time favorites, it goes. If it's a CD that I haven't listened to in years and I even forgot I had it, it goes. If it's an item of clothing I haven't worn in a year, two at the most, it goes. I won't say I'm throwing out more than I'm packing but the throw out piles are out of control, mostly, I suppose, because I don't have time to constantly go down to the trash room to put it in the dumpster.

I wish I had one of those big containers that a truck would deliver and set right under my window so I could simply pitch this shit out the window.

I have two-and-a-half weeks to get packed. We are moving in seventeen days. I'm not going to make it. I don't have a choice but to make it but right now if I had to lay money on it, I'd bet on me still tossing shit into boxes as the movers attempt to cart them away.