Predictions of a Frenemie
It’s winter and I am at Lush Food Bar for brunch.
One of the guys at our table says that he wants to move to Chicago, and I mention that I will likely move too.
That’s when one of the salty guys at our booth puts down his mimosa and says:
“Shut up about moving, Dennis. We all know you hate Minnesota, but you’re not moving anywhere. If you were going to move you would have done so already.”
Well, I guess he was wrong – The move to Dallas is happening tomorrow!
The last week has been stressful.
Between work, packing, and a busy “goodbye” social schedule – I’m exhausted.
But it was fun, I think.
Even the most mundane things feel heavy because I realize that this is going to be the last time that I go to a particular store, park, or coffeeshop. Bar friends and baristas give me overlong goodbyes because they suspect they’ll never see me again.
I also turned 29 in great company at the Gay 90’s.
So grateful for that.
The Great Purge
The worst part about moving is being confronted with all of my possessions. I have to relive every poor purchasing decision and missed expectation.
- That shirt was going to fit someday…
- That knickknack would have been perfect for my cubicle…
- I wanted to buy extra light bulbs just in case…
- These cleaning supplies that I never used were on sale so…
And yet, I hate throwing things away – I feel like I’m being wasteful and somehow failing to live up to my expectations for that object.
I now understand how people start hoarding.
I’m only taking a single carload of things to Dallas.
No Uhaul, Pod, or Trailer.
My neighbors think I’ve lost my mind, but I believe that forcing myself to declutter my life will help me get a truly fresh start ala Graham Hill.
Besides, the vast majority of the objects that I own are from different periods of my life, and have outlived their original purpose. I’m now 29, have zero fucks to give, and ready for a fresh start.
Hopefully I don’t regret this.
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