Last night I started packing up my belongings and began the task of transporting my precious cargo to my new home. I quickly realized that moving might take more time and effort than I had originally predicted. I decided that getting my office up and running should be my first priority, because I can’t survive a day without my precious computer. I cleaned out the stack of old art magazines that were collecting dust in my desk. I disconnected the countless wires that connected my computer to my scanner and printer and all of the other technological wonders that cluttered my desk. I packed up my DVD collection and my extensive library of art books.
At this point my room was a maze of magazines and boxes. I was surround by walls of CD cases and clothes. At this point i was feeling a little claustrophobic. I was already exhausted. My muscles burned and my back ached. I caught myself wishing that the new house was fully furnished so I could abandon everything I owned and start over with a brand new sparkling pile of junk. I wished I could burn everything. I wished I could just start over with a new life. I wished I wasn’t tied down to all of these materials things. They suddenly lost all value. I suddenly didn’t care about any of it.
Then I tried to move my desk out of my bedroom and discovered that the desk was too wide to fit through the doorway. I didn’t want to remove the door off of the hinges or dismantle the desk into a dozen little pieces. I instantly gave up. I didn’t care. I left the desk to die. fuck it.
Moving has made me realize that I own a bunch of shit that I don’t need. And maybe I need to free myself from all of this clutter.
After work I’m going to hunt for a new desk.
And then move more shit into my new house.
