Homeless person chucks tchotchkes, clings to Trivial Pursuit, bed

 
I’ve been absent. I know. But forgive me, I’m homeless.

WHAT?

Okay, not yet. Give me 9 days and I’ll be on the sidewalk with a dining set, a sweet ass sectional and my prized bed – which I love dearly. Oh, and probably my 5 versions of Trivial Pursuit.

Clothes are optional.

I’ve been searching for a place for months to no avail. I want to punch all those stupid DC reality shows because now the world can see DC is a pretty rad city – one in which I found no problem finding an abode in for the last 4 years, but suddenly it’s more competitive than real people trying to get internships at Elle over the Whitney Ports of the world. But I digress.

No. No, I don’t. It sucks. It’s consuming my life. I found a roommate and we were looking for a 2BR together. Monday, that option took a back seat and now I’m looking for any means of accommodation. For me. And my Trivial Pursuits --- if those cards get wet, it’s all over.

I wish someone would have told me not to make a home with someone until I was sure. (And, let’s be real, how sure can you be at 22?) HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW MANY KITCHEN CANISTERS I HAVE?! Ten; I have ten. [edit: over the weekend I saw two more I forgot about. So, I actually have 12.] That is preposterous. And now that I’m looking to move in to someone’s pre-established residence – there is no room for this shit. Nice shit. Ohh…all this SHIT I’ve collected over the years. All the things and selective tchotchkes (and I fucking hate tchotchkes) and games and books and clothes and art and and…and…I’m spent.

I made a home with someone. A home. He had to move back with his parents; I kept everything in the house. (Thanks for the Wii, past-lover.) But now I have a house worth of stuff we purchased to make a home and no place with which to fill.

Living with someone taught me I was planning on spending the rest of my life with the wrong person. That love is fickle...and unsuspectingly fleeting. It taught me that who you are in one place, at one point in your life, is not who you are in the next. And it’s the transitions that will kill you; a partner for life is someone who can make those transitions with you – and ease the pressures of them. (But honestly, I don’t think any 22 year old can do that effectively.) It taught me a lot of things, but it definitely taught me not to make a house into a home with someone until you're married. (You can quote me on that.) I wish someone would have told me to live in a studio with him and not fill out a house worth of things because the packrat, the frugal Mable, and the what-if persons inside of my head are going DON’T THROW THAT SHIT OUT!!!

But that’s all I want to do. Purge EVERYTHING. My motto: The more stuff you have, the more you have to lose - the more you have to worry about losing. And all I can worry about right now is not even having a place to put shit in order to lose it.

So I want to pull up a dumpster next to my window and dump everything I own in there – except my Trivial Pursuits, of course. I want to just clean house and be rid of all of it. [Cause when I'm living out of a shopping cart, it just won't have that same je nais se quoi.] But I know I’ll want it in the future…or at least I think I know. Then again, last time I knew something, is how I ended up with all this shit in the first place…



Dear World, Please provide me with a roof – and possibly the option to keep my sweet ass sectional. And bed. The tchotchkes can go.