Wampum

I can speak English again now that I have caffeine in my system. My early morning was spent grunting and scowling at the refrigerator which went on strike while we were down the Cape this weekend, thereby spoiling my olives, cheese, and most importantly, the milk for my morning coffee. Really, I should appreciate the fridge’s effort to push me out the door faster because I wasn’t already desperate to move into our condo in the quiet, sunny, affluent suburbs when I won’t hear motorcycles ripping past my house at midnight, my landlord’s wailing baby or the lilting tune of Flo Rida from the Section 8 housing down by the train station. I really needed someone to light a fire under my ass.

That said we spent a few hours on Sunday packing our worldly belongings without making a noticeable dent on the apartment. When did I accumulate so much stuff? As previously discussed, I spent a good portion of my post college years drifting about, living with whatever I could fit in a midsized sedan that I could pack up in an hour if I needed to flee. Now I have… things. I own Christmas plates. And decorative tchotchkes for my bookshelves. And bookshelves.

I was supposed to host a yard sale on Sunday but it was rained out, preventing me from selling off a motley assortment of my aforementioned possessions. It doesn’t help that I inherited a Stair Master from Beau’s cousin which was meant as a contribution to the yard sale and is now a delightfully retro contribution to my new home gym that I will use while wearing leg warmers and blasting Pat Benetar. I may have also gone to a few yard sales on Saturday morning and purchased an Augusten Burroughs memoir and a 2 foot strand of faux pearls. Those are my weaknesses. I totally understand why the Native Americans sold the island of Manhattan for beads. They will be accepted currency at my belated yard sale as well.