Sniff

So you may know that I'm getting ready to move. My ex-partner and current friend/roommate is leaving August 1, and S & I will be moving out September 1 (destination still uncertain; I might know Monday).

I decided after the last move (to the third floor, thank you) that if/when I move again I have to get rid of some of my crap. And now the time is upon me.

I'm starting with my queer books, which I will be donating to the Charlie Howard Memorial Library. I figure I can visit them any time I miss them. But I sat down to pull them off the shelves today, and then got very sad putting them in a box. Goodbye Leslie Feinberg, Mattilda, and Ann Bannon. Goodbye Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz and Julia Kristeva. Au revoir Jennifer Finney Boylan and Virginia Woolf and Dorothy Allison and Radclyffe Hall. It's difficult to see you go, even though you're going to a good home.

Next is going to be the old school books (a little easier--and they're headed for Goodwill). I'm going to keep one bookcase full of the rest of my favorites, mostly signed copies of books and a few others that are too dear. Just one bookcase. Honest.

Clothes, furniture, the hand drum, extra blankets, duplicate kitchen equipment and that which I've never used. All going. Need something? Give me a call. I probably have one that I'm trying to get rid of. Videos, DVDs, maybe the TV altogether.

I need to pare down, lighten up. I have placed too much importance on the external comforts of my life, and they are irrelevant, and cluttering up my place to boot. My goal: just the basics, ma'am.

Plus, my friends start to get scared when I mention moving. They make other plans. And who can blame them, when I've been guilty of owning fifteen boxes of books. I mean, really.