ice cream party, motherfuckers

As anyone who has talked to me in the last month or so can attest, I'm currently quite obsessed with simplification, or declutterization, as it were. What this has stemmed from (I can only imagine) is my realization that, even if I don't move this September, which I believe I won't be since we just sent an inquiry to our landlord about procuring another year lease, I will still, run-on-sentences-be-damned, one day have to move. And I acquired quite a bit of furniture last September, thanks to the generosity of my mum, whose downsizing her living space yet again left her with extra living room items. But one certainly needs living room furniture. Guests generally like to have somewhere to sit if they're going to stay more than thirty minutes. Televisions like to be on some sort of stand. I am, granted, speaking for the televisions. Their preferences might vary greatly, but, seeing how they have no way to communicate (unless using some sort of freaky X-Files type of communication), they have to let me speak for them. At least my own TV.

Furniture aside, I still just have a lot of "stuff" - something I've been struggling with for years. This realization has induced a number of recent activities, such as:

...subscribing to daily emails from exceptional sites such as unclutterer, declutterit, and, more with design in mind, apartment therapy.

...rethinking any future purchases. Do I really, really need more candles from IKEA or another book of poetry? Of course I do! But I'm not allowed buy them for myself anymore.

...donating old and ill-fitting clothing to goodwill.

...selling books online or giving some away.

Really, it all comes down to the question, will the purchase hit me twice? - meaning, first, do I need to spend money I don't really have on this item, and, secondly, is this item worth moving when the time comes? It's a little extreme perhaps, but I think a change in thinking - something to serve at least as a speed bump for my purchasing habits - is probably a very good thing.

You couldn't tell to look at my room, but I think I'm making progress. Perhaps someday my living spaces will be neat and organized and decluttered. Until then, the obsession with attempting to attain a state of organizational nirvana continues.

Another item of dismay - I have started to put books (some non-fiction, gasp!) on hold at the library based on those suggested or authored by writers of articles online. Some pertain to housing, the urge to buy (hah!), vegetarianism, nerdiness (yes, actually), etc. - an act that Rebekah said something along the lines of, means I'm an adult. Or acting like one. However, it's uncertian whether an adult would allow six of these books to stockpile in her house at one time. I mean, not someone like me who ends up watching netflix and going to the gym (I put this in here as a reminder that I should be going) in lieu of reading more often than not. I just got an email that three more books are available for pickup. Dear god, what have I gotten myself into!?

And a final note, explanatory of the above title (although I bet you're wishing I wouldn't explain it). I was looking at my calendar at work, on outlook, and there was a going-away party for one of our interns scheduled for the afternoon. All of the title of the appointment that I could read on the schedule was "ice cream party f," which I somehow misread in my head for a quick moment as "ice cream party, motherfuckers." Such a way to demand we all wish farewell to our intern, Patrick! Assuming anyone at work happens upon this entry and wishes to give me sass, I suppose I could be in some sort of trouble for typing about motherfuckers. But who knows. They're people too. The workers, but also the motherfuckers.

Hearts and such,
Moondoggy