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But wait, there's more.
There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?
Need a band name?
rant is where the heart is
entry for 2002-10-26 (18:37)
In which our plucky young hero at least is leaving the end tables behind.
Dammit! I'm already up to five boxes.
Almost all of my books and CDs fit into one box, which I think is just going to come in under the 70-pound limit. My kitchen gear is spread through three different boxes: one for the plates, one for the pots and pans, and one for the utensils (shoved into the corners of my Brita box). Then I need a box to put my Playstation, VCR, tax records, and small appliances (blender, toaster, coffee maker) into. I need a box for the television. And I need to take my tent and my old but still cherished trading card game collection and and and and and.
I'm already looking at my 19" television and thinking "Do I really need a television? If I do, can't I replace it in Toronto?" And I can eat off paper plates for a week or two, right? And are all those clothes really going to make my life any better?
I don't want to do triage. I want to take everything with me. Even the food. I'll arrive in Toronto with an existing supply of flour and olive oil and and and-- wait, I've been here already.
On the one hand, I keep wondering when that zen detachment will come over me and I'll realize that these are things that the truly enlightened individual can cast aside without a second thought.
On the other hand, is enlightenment worth it if I have to do it without a deep dish pan?
More money. More boxes. More things I can't live without, and more surprises lurking in every single corner of my apartment.(Browse: previous or next. Notes: post or read.)
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