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In Which a 30' Dumpster is a Metaphor
Aug. 16th, 2009 10:07 pmIt was needful that the house be 100% empty ("broom clean", as they say in the trade) by this evening, as the walkthrough was to happen then, and we are signing it away at 9am tomorrow. The movers appeared in the morning to pack up that which Steve is taking to his new place, and everything else Must Go. Therefore, much of the day was spent chucking things into a giant dumpster, because a 5 bedroom house fits a hell of a lot more stuff than one studio + one 1-BR apartment no matter how you slice it.
Some stuff, I am happy to say, found new homes.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sweh took our dining room set (and I saddled him with the hammock and the grill); many, many people took books; Dan took The Comfiest Chair In The World; etc. And I have a carload of MOAR STUF which I don't know how on earth I'll merge it into my space. But we still threw out enough to pile a 30' dumpster to the brim (and this after renting a smaller one several months ago for the obviously worthless garbage). This upset me a lot, to the point where I welcomed the chance for a two-hour driving errand to the city.
Some of the upset was because, yes, I am an unrelieved animist. Throwing away a book is still, in my head, only slightly less culpable than abandoning a baby. I'm working on letting go of this, or at least bringing it to a reasonable pitch[1]. More of it was the sheer waste; I think we probably threw out a couple hundred dollars' worth of food, for instance, and then there's the toiletries and household supplies and an inexpensive but fairly new bed and a FUCKING TV even if it's a huge CRT that no one wants to deal with and and and... I realize that price is not the only measure of worth, and that if no one has a need for a thing, then the amount of green folding paper you exchanged for it becomes irrelevant; but I found I was keeping a mental running total of how much of the fruits of our collective labor was being discarded, and the significance was assuming epic proportions.
Which leads to the final aspect, which is the discarding of, well, the fruits of our collective labor. My whole working life, this, and a significant percentage of it tossed with a wild cry of "Junk it!" Sure, I saved the bits that mean the most or are the most useful or (etc.), but it's brands from the burning, and I have a very large crow on my shoulder croaking into my ear a never-ending refrain of "You Did It Wrong".
[1]However, I am still pretty durn pissed that Steve dumpstered the signed and numbered Gould print of the cover to "Stormbringer", and I think I am justified in this.
Some stuff, I am happy to say, found new homes.
sweh took our dining room set (and I saddled him with the hammock and the grill); many, many people took books; Dan took The Comfiest Chair In The World; etc. And I have a carload of MOAR STUF which I don't know how on earth I'll merge it into my space. But we still threw out enough to pile a 30' dumpster to the brim (and this after renting a smaller one several months ago for the obviously worthless garbage). This upset me a lot, to the point where I welcomed the chance for a two-hour driving errand to the city.Some of the upset was because, yes, I am an unrelieved animist. Throwing away a book is still, in my head, only slightly less culpable than abandoning a baby. I'm working on letting go of this, or at least bringing it to a reasonable pitch[1]. More of it was the sheer waste; I think we probably threw out a couple hundred dollars' worth of food, for instance, and then there's the toiletries and household supplies and an inexpensive but fairly new bed and a FUCKING TV even if it's a huge CRT that no one wants to deal with and and and... I realize that price is not the only measure of worth, and that if no one has a need for a thing, then the amount of green folding paper you exchanged for it becomes irrelevant; but I found I was keeping a mental running total of how much of the fruits of our collective labor was being discarded, and the significance was assuming epic proportions.
Which leads to the final aspect, which is the discarding of, well, the fruits of our collective labor. My whole working life, this, and a significant percentage of it tossed with a wild cry of "Junk it!" Sure, I saved the bits that mean the most or are the most useful or (etc.), but it's brands from the burning, and I have a very large crow on my shoulder croaking into my ear a never-ending refrain of "You Did It Wrong".
[1]However, I am still pretty durn pissed that Steve dumpstered the signed and numbered Gould print of the cover to "Stormbringer", and I think I am justified in this.
