This may fall under the heading of "It doesn't take much to make me happy" but we finally, after at least five years, got a storage unit that's ( near the place where we're living. )
Take One Card, Play, DiscardnellherselfMay 11 2009, 14:53:52 UTC
Almost four years ago Himself and I moved our entire life eastward at a distance of about 16 hours by car. Our entire life was a ten year accumulation in what We Thought was a tiny house in located in conventional Time-Space.
As we prepared to move, we made a critical decision involving a commercial size dumpster (8x6x20 feet), the foisting of orchid plants on the unwary, shang-haing able bodied friends, and the notification of students.
The dumpster filled; old but still serviceable furniture was carted off by young people each one taking 18 hours of assorted math, physics, linguistics, biology, computer science and engineering courses in order to avoid getting a real job; and the movers boxed the remains.
Or so we thought.
We have not yet unpacked all out boxes. Four years. In fact, there seem to be more of them. Every now and then, when one is breeched the contents seem familiar, but on further inspection are ...not. No, not at all.
I did a rough calculation of the volume of the dumpster, the volume of the dispersed objects and the volume of material delivered to our new house.
This sum exceeds the volume of the old house. By a considerable margin.
I must, perforce, conclude that our former house sat on some kind of unstable patch of time-space, one that fed brown cardboard boxes of ...stuff into this world. And that somehow it has followed us.
Re: Take One Card, Play, DiscardferlondaMay 12 2009, 02:50:51 UTC
Well, boxes of stuff know when they're welcome.
Like many problems, we unconsciously "invite" them into our lives. I suggest counseling with a reputable shaman or witch doctor. If that's not possible, large amounts of dark chocolate can also help.
As we prepared to move, we made a critical decision involving a commercial size dumpster (8x6x20 feet), the foisting of orchid plants on the unwary, shang-haing able bodied friends, and the notification of students.
The dumpster filled; old but still serviceable furniture was carted off by young people each one taking 18 hours of assorted math, physics, linguistics, biology, computer science and engineering courses in order to avoid getting a real job; and the movers boxed the remains.
Or so we thought.
We have not yet unpacked all out boxes. Four years.
In fact, there seem to be more of them. Every now and then, when one is breeched the contents seem familiar, but on further inspection are ...not. No, not at all.
I did a rough calculation of the volume of the dumpster, the volume of the dispersed objects and the volume of material delivered to our new house.
This sum exceeds the volume of the old house. By a considerable margin.
I must, perforce, conclude that our former house sat on some kind of unstable patch of time-space, one that fed brown cardboard boxes of ...stuff into this world. And that somehow it has followed us.
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Like many problems, we unconsciously "invite" them into our lives. I suggest counseling with a reputable shaman or witch doctor. If that's not possible, large amounts of dark chocolate can also help.
A dumpster... I wish we had a dumpster... Mmm...
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