“Do you have a copy without autographs?” “No.[1,2]” Autographs represent a moment in time where one person interacted with another person and recorded it via an object. Is it a way of “proving” that I once spoke to so-and-so? Why even care about such evidence? Even a photo just shows you were there. What difference does it make? What happens when the person giving the autograph or posing stops being as favorable or becomes detestable?
If my CD collection represents an analogy for my collections as a whole, where this morning’s blast through five mediocre CDs to get to one I’d actually like to hear more than once more might be a particularly harsh downsizing session, then I could probably easily compress my remaining valuables into new containers and either sell or donate the rest. All it took was proximity, patience, and persistence to figure out the pulp from prizes.
I’ve found good things about every job, gig, or whatever I’ve ever had. Whether my colleagues made the bosses tolerable, the location allowed some fun exploration, or the work was satisfying enough, when my mind flashes visions of the stairwell at this company or the workbench of that company, I always feel a melancholy nostalgia until I remember the rest of that job and how this one’s worst is better than some gig’s best days.
Randomly stumbling across garage sales was fun, but now they’re just footnotes in my self-exploration journey that helped me arrive at the person I am today. I was recently offered the opportunity to co-host a garage sale to sell off a bunch of my stuff, but I declined because I wanted to use that time to do other things instead. Potentially making a few dollars for laborious work might appeal to some, but not me.
Among the nice things about the apartment-mansion, having a dumpster along the route to my parking spot is among the middle to maybe nicer things. If I aim a bag just right, it disappears into the ether, along with any bad memories its contents may have contained. Today I threw away two things that I once liked until their memories became sullied, and rather than keep them for saccharine lamentation, away forever they did go.
There’s a morbid curiosity in assessing the prices of everything you want to keep. It’s usually 5¢, 10¢, 23¢, but what happens when you strike a goldmine? Does their unexpectedly exorbitant buying price influence your owning something? Is that the time to bring it into a store to make even more money? For me, if I value something, only significant amounts of money could influence my decision, otherwise, I have conviction: If I like something, I’m keeping it!
“Are you pregnant?!” “Not that I’m aware.” When I tell people about my peanut butter and cheese sandwiches, inspired by the Mr. Saturns, they’re usually a little boing’d out. When I tell them about how I prep them all at once, eat them because they’re an efficient balance of nutrients, and I like ’em, they usually admit that it’s smart. There’s a “mesmerism” with eating predictable foods at predictable times. I don’t feel hunger often.
“I hope you do something nice for yourself. Other than reading, writing, or rowing.” “I was thinking of drinking an unhealthy amount of energy drinks. Otherwise, I had thought of doing things in Seattle or elsewhere, but nothing was appealing. ” I had been anticipating my birthday for a few weeks. I wanted to prepare myself to do whatever I wanted when I woke up. Explore the city on a nice summer day? Or do nothing?
“What’d you do over your birthday?” “Just hung out with the wife. Did what I wanted to do all weekend, basically.” “That’s great. Our birthdays are the only day where we can be autonomous and really celebrate ourselves. The rest of the year, we’ve gotta give our autonomy over to others.” “I hadn’t really thought of it like that, but you’re right.” This essay publishes on my birthday; what will I do on this day?
I opened a box of once-treasured CDs to find one to sell and I left my storage room with an armful of over twenty I realized I could also part with for either some or no profit. It was a bittersweet moment. My 20s were filled with so much compassion for mediocre nouns. Now that I’ve increased my “keep” threshold from “don’t hate” to “really like,” I have inventory, but how will I move it?