Packbrat.
Tomorrow begins our long weekend of moving. Between when I wake up tomorrow and when we pick up the keys from our new landlord in the late afternoon, I need to pack up the main clothes closet and the remaining detritus of my various desk drawers, scrub down the back bathroom, get rid of as many of my old newspapers as possible, and help pawn off our clunky old dryer on my sister and our clunky old washer on one of Adam's friends from his weekday dog park crew. That washer has been freecycled several times -- Adam got it free from a neighbor who didn't want to move it, and that neighbor had gotten it free from whomever lived in the apartment before he did. Oh, the life cycle of big, ugly appliances.
I'm only a Class C packrat. I gave up on saving all my old teen magazines out of cheesy nostalgia. I got rid of all but a tiny and non-embarrassing sample of my childhood drawings. I'm beginning to part with relics from college; that freshman orientation brochure never did get any more interesting, not even now, nine years removed from that first awkward weekend spent at UGA. It was just this past weekend that I found my diaries from the late 80s and early 90s, but I spent so much time rereading those when I was a supposedly world-weary teenager that I have the entries too well memorized to really miss their physical presence.
But damn if I can't seem to part with the newspapers. If I'd stacked them all up last week, the tower of newsprint probably would have reached to my waist, at least. We finally let the subscription run out a few weeks ago, but before that I was having terrible problems getting the paper, not reading the paper, but still keeping the paper around because I'd catch sight of an interesting article on the front page, or the teaser for an intriguing obituary in the corner of the Metro section. I'd toss the paper under the coffee table to read later. Once the space under the coffee table filled up, Adam would take the whole stack of kindling and stuff it in a bag. We filled two Trader Joe's paper bags, two canvas shopping totes, and one wicker basket this way before Adam gave me a very reasonable ultimatum: the papers do NOT follow us to the new apartment!
Fair enough.
But what Adam calls "going through the papers" is actually "reading the papers." I've recycled all the sports sections, the classifieds, the car dealer ads, the expired coupons. All that's left is stuff that, at one point or another, I decided I wanted to read. When I consider chucking the rest (two shopping bags, the wicker basket, and a small stack on the floor) into the recycling bin, I get a little panicky. What about that Spring Awakening article from April (nevermind that I have read 20 other articles about Spring Awakening)? What about the essay by the woman who read all the Pulitzer winners in fiction? That two-page treatise on China's economy in a Sunday editorial section from mid-2006?
Okay, so maybe I'm a Class A-Minus packrat.
Thanks for all the camera suggestions in the comments for my last entry. Guess what -- I still haven't bought one yet! Maybe I can squeeze that in tomorrow. I can, at least, link to some photos of the new place I ganked from the Craigslist ad:
There are two facing buildings, each with only 8 units. They were built in the 1940s. This lovely little courtyard and sidewalk sit between the buildings. Yay for big, shady trees. You'd never guess that this place is within walking distance of the supermarket, the library, the Barnes and Noble, and lots of other places, but none I care about more than those first three. Also, I'm going to eventually try walking the 1.8 miles to work. But not in July.
Part of the living room, with a view into the kitchen. Hardwood floors! It's been a while.
I'm only a Class C packrat. I gave up on saving all my old teen magazines out of cheesy nostalgia. I got rid of all but a tiny and non-embarrassing sample of my childhood drawings. I'm beginning to part with relics from college; that freshman orientation brochure never did get any more interesting, not even now, nine years removed from that first awkward weekend spent at UGA. It was just this past weekend that I found my diaries from the late 80s and early 90s, but I spent so much time rereading those when I was a supposedly world-weary teenager that I have the entries too well memorized to really miss their physical presence.
But damn if I can't seem to part with the newspapers. If I'd stacked them all up last week, the tower of newsprint probably would have reached to my waist, at least. We finally let the subscription run out a few weeks ago, but before that I was having terrible problems getting the paper, not reading the paper, but still keeping the paper around because I'd catch sight of an interesting article on the front page, or the teaser for an intriguing obituary in the corner of the Metro section. I'd toss the paper under the coffee table to read later. Once the space under the coffee table filled up, Adam would take the whole stack of kindling and stuff it in a bag. We filled two Trader Joe's paper bags, two canvas shopping totes, and one wicker basket this way before Adam gave me a very reasonable ultimatum: the papers do NOT follow us to the new apartment!
Fair enough.
But what Adam calls "going through the papers" is actually "reading the papers." I've recycled all the sports sections, the classifieds, the car dealer ads, the expired coupons. All that's left is stuff that, at one point or another, I decided I wanted to read. When I consider chucking the rest (two shopping bags, the wicker basket, and a small stack on the floor) into the recycling bin, I get a little panicky. What about that Spring Awakening article from April (nevermind that I have read 20 other articles about Spring Awakening)? What about the essay by the woman who read all the Pulitzer winners in fiction? That two-page treatise on China's economy in a Sunday editorial section from mid-2006?
Okay, so maybe I'm a Class A-Minus packrat.
Thanks for all the camera suggestions in the comments for my last entry. Guess what -- I still haven't bought one yet! Maybe I can squeeze that in tomorrow. I can, at least, link to some photos of the new place I ganked from the Craigslist ad:
There are two facing buildings, each with only 8 units. They were built in the 1940s. This lovely little courtyard and sidewalk sit between the buildings. Yay for big, shady trees. You'd never guess that this place is within walking distance of the supermarket, the library, the Barnes and Noble, and lots of other places, but none I care about more than those first three. Also, I'm going to eventually try walking the 1.8 miles to work. But not in July.
Part of the living room, with a view into the kitchen. Hardwood floors! It's been a while.