"Stuff"

Moving is tricky, on many many levels. As I espied my shelves of oh so many intriguing and utterly useless books, I think to myself "two boxes should cut it". Optimistic to say the least. I filled 4x50 litre boxes with mostly books and DVDs. It goes without saying that anybody who is a lover of books, either on a scholarly or recreational level, should A) work out on a regular basis, B) Never move. Option B is ironically enough not an option. and option A, well let's just let bygones be bygones. I am convinced that this is how the library system got started. Some poor bloke manages to accumulate so many books that moving them becomes impossible. So what is the next logical step. You move yourself away and erect a library around your books. Now I don't want to brag that I am anywhere near library level, and maybe that would not even be a good thing, but at least for now my books are secured.

Step 3 in the great moving process is to figure out what to do with all the little nick knacks lying around. Where they came from is not really important, the fact that I still have them is. I had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine Mr. Arlov the other day where we touched upon an issue of much repute. "Stuff". Stuff that you receive over the years, be it a little post-it with a a smiley from a friend, or an eventually broken-down lamp, one might not really be bothered to toss it away. And so it gathers, slowly but surely. As the years pass this stuff becomes something more than just stuff. By keeping it around you inadvertently give it a higher status than it should have, as if you are afraid your brain might forget everything but what is in front of your eyes one day. So the stuff becomes something utterly person and dare I say defining. Now Mrs. Bull would have me have a conversation with myself concerning my stuff, and I tend to agree. I need to start asking myself the really difficult question. "Does Dan Brown's novels really deserve a re-reading at any point in my life. Should it be uplifted to the status of Shakespeare's collected works. Should it be trashed with the other pocketbooks I bought on a whim. The answer is yes. But, I am clearly not in any state to make such decisions, so for now simply packing down my belongings will have to do, and then chucking them away will be done when I unpack again.

When I reminisce back to the early days of post-high school right before the move up to Trondheim, I do remember that most of my nick knacks went in non-descript plastic bags and remain in drawer, ready to be nostalgically opened one day. The new place has a huge paper trash container in the basement, I think I will bide my time and one night, soon enough, chuck the lot of the useless stuff.

On boxes and other stuff I "might" need.

So I am trying to motivate myself to begin the big clean out. Before I can even think about what and how I will pack away my belongings, I first have to get rid of the crap I really should not be saving. If Oprah is any consolation on this point, it is that if you have to think more than two seconds if something should be kept or not, throw....it....out. Now of course boxes would be perfect to stow my various collections of books, DVDs and generally trinkets of sentimental value (believe you me, it has gone way past the cute kitty post-card line). However, the first thing I needed to toss today was in fact, boxes. A testament to my power of purchase but despite that they should have been thrown years ago, not kept to be used for potential coffins for a failing shoe (yes still with the shoes).

Finally got to use my leatherman for something other than opening those new parcels to begin with. Aside from that the many papers stuffed in bags under my bed and in the rat-sized crawl-space between my closet and the ceiling of my den needed to be dealt with. I say rat-sized because lets face it, I am a pack rat. So these papers might as well have been papyrus belonging to some Pharaoh because relatively speaking I would not need to hang on to an essay I wrote on an exam 6 years ago. Interesting yes, but I would like to think I might reminisce, years from now, of something a bit more monumental, like an essay written 3 years ago. This is the king of logic that has created a pile of papers that would effectively kill any shredder (except maybe the industrial one at work, that one is wicked!).

The search ends

After much searching and contemplation during the past few weeks I have finally been able to settle on a pair of shoes. This may sound mundane and perhaps even superficial to most, but my feet have generally been my friends, through good times and bad, through drunk and sober nights alike. My frakking leg on the other hand is another story, which I can talk about over a beer sometime.

The shoe search was pretty much doomed by a preference for keeping feet dry, and as I do reside in a region where rain is predominant, it seemed like a safe bet. But gore-tex is just no substitute for general comfort and cushioning. I am sure that can be said for a lot of situations. After staking out many a shoe store (from the inside of course) I came to a most disconcerting revelation: the shoe industry does not cater to men's sizes below 41 European. So the search was complicated by another element: I can either walk around in big shoes, or perfect fitting women's shoes. The wisdom of the latter would not have been so faulty (HEY, if the shoe fits, wear it!) had it not been for the colors. Now, it should be said that I am colorblind, something I am reminded of weekly whenever a powerpoint presentation at work becomes, let's just call it "creative", and being a proponent of the arts, I have to support this kind of initiative (you know who you are!). However, I could not bring myself to wear bluestriped shoes. I may not know colors, but I do have some sense of self-respect.

In the end, I found a pair of shoes that was indeed created for men (by men) in a decent color (black, the only color I can with little or no problem see. People say that one shouldn't judge the world in terms of black and white, well that is often quite NOT helpful to me at all). Of course it cost me my shirt, one of the colored ones I don't care much for!

It's going to be Legen ----wait for it-----dary!!

After much contemplation and, needless to say, inspiration, I have decided I would begin blogging. The thought did obviously occur to me "Why blog, what to blog, and is this really in my best interest as I find myself almost too immersed in facebook already?". The old me would have thought of some very philosophical and justifiable reason for bloging, but the current curious square-eye will clearly follow the great philosopher Nike.

The actual fact of the matter is that I hardly have the time to do any "real" writing or "reading" anymore. You know, the real scholarly stuff that forces one to re-evaluate everything one sees and knows. So I am reduced to reading blogs, but far be it for me to condemn the blogousphere (If it is misspelled, I just coined a new word!). I am lately finding blogs quite enjoyable, barring they are well written of course. So for my literary relief and conduit, hello world! (or the two or three who might browse my blog from time to time)

After having thrown back a few at the bar, I find myself in need of a blog. So much so perhaps that it can be equated to the elation of a woman who has found (she thinks) the perfect pair of shoes. You know it will give immediate gratification, and that people will admire you for it, but the question will always linger........(you guessed it).....where will it take me?

As work slow trickles to a stop for this school year, I find myself wanting. Regrets, don't think so. Too much time on my hands, maybe. Looking out for my guys' best interest, definitely. Despite the lack of intensive workloads, I find myself still having some scraps on my plate, or rather morsels of labour hidden in between my sofa cushions, which seem to be slipping my mind. Procrastination, thou art a tricky little minx!