Sunday, January 25, 2009

Anthony Works it the Grocery Store / Saving His Pennies for Someday

There’s nothing worse than helping a friend move and there’s nothing more boring than hearing someone talk about moving, but I don’t care and I intend to fill the next few days with both. If someone so much as breathes in a way that sounds sympathetic to my moving plight, I’m roping them into hauling my dresser up two flights of stairs. And I am going to talk nonstop about boxes and duct tape and furniture and cleaning my baseboards (which have somehow gotten dusty beyond the realm of dust possibility) until I get upset enough to need to sit down on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, eating sesame tofu and watching therapeutic doses of Flight of the Conchords.

I’ve lived in my apartment for almost two and a half years. That’s plenty of time to fill up two floors and a backyard with unfathomable amounts of crap I thought I might want to keep, in addition to the lifetime’s worth of stuff I’ve been hauling around since I was a kid. I have this hunch that I may end up one of those old women who likes to scrapbook because of my stupid tendency to keep anything even remotely nostalgic for anticipated bouts of future nostalgia, even though I only look at these things when I’m angry I have to put them into new boxes. This time I’ve thrown away a lot, despite the objections of my inner packrat: my PSAT scores (BUT WHAT IF YOU NEED TO PROVE YOU QUALIFIED AS A NATIONAL MERIT SCHOLAR IN THE LATE NINETIES?!) , collections of poems written between eighth and tenth grade (BUT WHAT IF YOU’RE A SECRET GENIUS AND THEY WANT TO POSTHUMOUSLY PUBLISH YOU LIKE ANNE FRANK?!) and several empty jewelry boxes shaped like treasure chests (BUT WHAT IF YOU FIND DUBLOONS?!).

The list goes on. Empty bottles of Southern Comfort consumed on good nights and kept like Emmy awards on my bookshelf. Earrings. My ears don’t even have holes anymore. Birthday cards. Shit I’ve bought at dollar stores just because, like those growing fish or baby barrettes and Jesus candles. All on the curb.

This is a big move. It's one I'm excited about, and it's one that needs to happen for finacial reasons (there is actually a reason why I drink on Tuesday nights when the PBR is free), and it's dumb to live in my neighborhood when I spend hours and hours every week taking the stupid F to the stupider G because everything I do is up there. I’ve lived in my part of Brooklyn since 2005 and with Brad that whole time, so it’s extremely weird to have keys, right now, in my pocket, shiny ones, that open an apartment off the L train, and that my bedroom is next to Jes’s now.

I’m trying not to get nostalgic about the whole thing, which is what all this removal of garbage is about, but I did kind of sob while taking down the Christmas tree, throwing it in a deluxe black trash bag and realizing we’re going to have to split up the ornaments for good.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Catherine in FL said...

Moving SUCKS! I am being sympathetic from afar(I live in Florida). So my friend referred me to your blogs and you crack me up. I too was brought up in a lame small town (Moodus, CT) and lived in NYC for a while and I empathize with your boy troubles...man we could talk (it's mostly my fault) Now that my life is extremely boring in Florida I live vicariously through your blog. Love me some Flight of the Conchords. Good luck on your move! Hope you don't have to walk up a million flights of stairs with a couch.

11:44 AM  
Blogger Kathy said...

Just two flights. But also: we have three couches. I'm trying not to dwell...

12:06 PM  

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