rudderless, anchorless... quite possibly mindless, just for variety
over the past few days, i've instigated a major domestic overhaul. sorting, purging on a moving-across-the-country-everything-must-go level. not that i am, but because i'm slowly being buried in my own clutter. the room's a mess, but there are clearly defined piles to go, be it for recycling, swaps or donation. if it's not used or loved, it's gone.
this happens just about yearly, i'm seldom so thorough about it. the box of old sketchbooks under my bed was especially traumatic. that's a story for later. every time i go excavating for another layer of me, i'm greeted by a familar face. meet agatha:
this hippopotamus-shaped lump of cheap fuchsia chenille and stuffing is the size of a large acorn squash with stubby limbs. i won her myself at a carnival midway game, summer of 2002. one look at her lopsided head, mismatched ears, snaggle teeth and beady little eyes - she was christened agatha on the spot.
halfway through the day, i won something else and was offered a chance to upgrade, but agatha would have to go too. we'd only just met, but i looked at that knobby head, offset ears and beady little eyes. agatha. charmed already, i thought that no one would possibly love this strange little toy quite as much. i refused and she followed me home.
every time possessions exceed their places and i feel suffocated by the debris, stuff goes. i can be pretty merciless. other toys have gone. then i get to agatha, with her potato-head, crooked teeth, shiny little eyes. every time, i worry that no one will possibly love this odd, ugly toy. i know it's not rational. she stays anyway.
i've moved a lot since 2002. eight years as a nomadic apartment-dweller takes its toll. the packing-and-boxes game is also a paring down, a lesson in travelling lightly. more things get left behind in the wake of a moving human and i'm no exception. utility weighed against sentiment, contrasted with aesthetics. and agatha. she gets held over the bag for donations and looks up at me with those twinkly little eyes and crooked ears, her head bowed and forlorn.
once, agatha spent the night in a donations bag. when i got home the next day, i was all set to walk the next load over to my closest goodwill drop-box... except i'd been wracked with guilt all afternoon about abandoning agatha. guilt. over a grotesque ball of stuffing with eyes. the rest of it i was glad to be rid of. she got dug out, squashed even further out of shape with massive hugs and returned to her shelf because nobody could possibly love a snaggle toothed, lopsided purple hippo with tiny beady eyes.
not like i do, despite best efforts to the contrary. i named her. i'm stuck with her.
agatha's already survived this latest round of shipping stuff off to new homes. in fact, she's just been granted permanent residency in a place of honour. she'll serve as a fine cautionary tale against bringing extra stuff home. if you accept it and give it a name, you'll also have to give it a place at the table.
can you even see the table?
this happens just about yearly, i'm seldom so thorough about it. the box of old sketchbooks under my bed was especially traumatic. that's a story for later. every time i go excavating for another layer of me, i'm greeted by a familar face. meet agatha:
this hippopotamus-shaped lump of cheap fuchsia chenille and stuffing is the size of a large acorn squash with stubby limbs. i won her myself at a carnival midway game, summer of 2002. one look at her lopsided head, mismatched ears, snaggle teeth and beady little eyes - she was christened agatha on the spot.
halfway through the day, i won something else and was offered a chance to upgrade, but agatha would have to go too. we'd only just met, but i looked at that knobby head, offset ears and beady little eyes. agatha. charmed already, i thought that no one would possibly love this strange little toy quite as much. i refused and she followed me home.
every time possessions exceed their places and i feel suffocated by the debris, stuff goes. i can be pretty merciless. other toys have gone. then i get to agatha, with her potato-head, crooked teeth, shiny little eyes. every time, i worry that no one will possibly love this odd, ugly toy. i know it's not rational. she stays anyway.
i've moved a lot since 2002. eight years as a nomadic apartment-dweller takes its toll. the packing-and-boxes game is also a paring down, a lesson in travelling lightly. more things get left behind in the wake of a moving human and i'm no exception. utility weighed against sentiment, contrasted with aesthetics. and agatha. she gets held over the bag for donations and looks up at me with those twinkly little eyes and crooked ears, her head bowed and forlorn.
once, agatha spent the night in a donations bag. when i got home the next day, i was all set to walk the next load over to my closest goodwill drop-box... except i'd been wracked with guilt all afternoon about abandoning agatha. guilt. over a grotesque ball of stuffing with eyes. the rest of it i was glad to be rid of. she got dug out, squashed even further out of shape with massive hugs and returned to her shelf because nobody could possibly love a snaggle toothed, lopsided purple hippo with tiny beady eyes.
not like i do, despite best efforts to the contrary. i named her. i'm stuck with her.
agatha's already survived this latest round of shipping stuff off to new homes. in fact, she's just been granted permanent residency in a place of honour. she'll serve as a fine cautionary tale against bringing extra stuff home. if you accept it and give it a name, you'll also have to give it a place at the table.
can you even see the table?