I’m packing my shit up to move. Well, actually, I’m procrastinating most of the time, chained to my computer, lost in Tron 2.0, but sooner or later I’m going to have to crack down and deal with my Apartment of Doom because I have to be out of here by August 1st or earlier. My landlord’s been pretty decent about letting me out of my lease and even let me use my deposit to cover my last month, which is unusual because he’s quite a slumlord. I guess it pays to play the victim card.

Since I’ve moved every year that I’ve been in New York City, shuffling around the boroughs, I’ve slowly winnowed away the rat’s nest of crap I’ve accumulated over the past 30 years or so. I came here with a huge truckload of shit. Chairs, tables, dressers, fish, a cat, antique shit I don’t even like and boxes upon boxes of crap I never use, will never use and don’t really want, yet cannot bring myself to throw away. The pack rat syndrome has long been a curse under which I have suffered and with each year and each move to yet another ghetto, I have endeavored to shave away the layers of junk I don’t need and mold myself into a kinder, gentler, simpler man who is able organize and move his possessions in a couple of hours with a cab ride rather than needing a month and a half and the rental of a truck. It’s hard, my people, but I try.

It’s fair to say that since my arrival in the city about four years ago I’ve removed well over half of the stuff I brought with me from my life in Vermont. The fish, the cat, the gym, the dresser, almost all the furniture - all gone and each year I’ve subtracted more and more. Now I’ve decided that this move will be the big one, where I purge myself of all unnecessary crap and assume the life of a true austere, compact and self-sufficient man-of-the-city. It may be just a relocation to around the corner from where I am now, but to this human magpie, it shall be a triumph to end all triumphs! I will not be one of those weird old people who leave behind a maze-like rat’s nest of an apartment, full of old newspapers and bits of string. I will die penniless and without home or possessions like I’m supposed to, god-dammit!

I figure that all I really need is my clothes, a TV for those rare moments I watch it (Law & Fucking Order!!!), some books I just can’t part with and all my computers and assorted gadgets. Actually, all I need are the computers and gadgets but public nudity is not my thing so I’ll make some allowances for pants and other hippie shit like that. Everything else goes to the trash or in a few rare cases, into storage. It’s a good thing. It needs to be done.

Unfortunately having all this crap and trying to sort it all and get rid of it is looking to be more daunting than I thought. But, it must be done as there simply is not enough room where I’m going to and I’ll be damned if all this shit ends up in storage. I must purge this home! Quick, the gasoline! We must cleanse!