I'm going to go get my stuff within weeks. (Everyone rolls eyes.)
And I realize I've been saying this for a long time but I want to have stuff in place for when my kid visits for Christmas. Among the stuff I do not have to retrieve are Christmas decorations because I have none.
Here's the thing: it's expensive. I have some moving money from the company but that was taxed at 40 percent. Plus my month-long stay in a hotel was taxed as a direct benefit. Both cut heavily into the moving money. And my car -- well, don't get me going on my car. My mechanic told me "You're leaking from everywhere." You don't want to hear that from your mechanic or your doctor.
So I believe when the second November paycheck hits, I can hit the road and get my junk here.
I suspect it will be something like Christmas, opening hundreds of presents of stuff I haven't seen in two years.
Then the cull will begin.
Yes, I'm going to drive for four days -- two to Bloomington and two back -- so I can get rid of said stuff.
Living for two years without access to my accumulated useless goods has been a wonderful lesson in minimalism.
In North Carolina, the last time my stuff was out of boxes, Clare looked at my library and insisted I didn't need two copies of "Thou and I" by Martin Buber. One, yes I did. Two, what an awful last name for a kid in middle school.
It reminds me of one of the stories of the Buddha. He culled down to a tea cup and a rice pot because he didn't need more. A student asked about having guests. The Buddha calmly replied they would bring their own rice pots and tea cups.
I won't need anything else.
Although, I'll be like Steve Martin in "The Jerk," who didn't need anything else.
So I'll end up with a rice pot, a tea cup, an ashtray, a remote, a paddle board, some matches, the lamp and a chair.
And nothing else.
Except for half a dozen typewriters -- down from 35. Five hundreds pens. Hundreds of books. Two potato ricers. And just one copy of "Thou and I."
Peace and less stuff unto all of you my brothers and sisters.