Day 110

Chia Pets and Salad Shooters

I continue to ask myself the same question.  It is a question that comes up all too frequently in my life.  Its frequency relating directly to my wife's desire to move from one location to the next like a gypsy vagabond.  The question is simple enough . . . "Why do I have so much crap?"  Boxing all of your worldly possessions causes you to take inventory of all of those wonderous trinkets and bobbles that you thought you couldn't live without.  You know . . . all that shit collecting dust in your attic.  On prior occassions I have alluded to my proclivity for disposing of anything that sits still for more than three minutes and yet I still find myself with a bunch of stuff that does nothing more than take up space in my life.  I think we are all collectors in some sense of the word.  Some of us call it a hobby, some call it decoration.  Hell, some of us in the world are so addicted to consumer goods that we turn into weirdo shut ins and pack rats.  "Hoarders" seems to be the current nomenclature.  Whatever you call it, it's an illness from which we all suffer.

Whats more, there are some of us that trade all of this junk on a regular basis at what we Americans refer to as "Garage Sales".  They go by a different name, but they are present all over this crazy world.  It is a world wide obsession I think.  The concept that one man's trash is another man's treasure seems hard coded into our DNA.  Don't get me wrong, I am not being critical of the yard sale.  Nothing like a little recycling, and if that recycling puts a little coin in your pocket . . . all the better.  Truth be told, the treasure hunter in me actually enjoys the prospect.  The Felix Unger in me, however, finds it all rather difficult to palate.  Day 110 would have me gathering all of our treasures and finding an appropriate sized box to jam it all into.  Once again I went scavenging and found a stash of brand new moving boxes in Madame Chabou's garage.  I don't think they are going to do the job in its entirety, but it is a start.  Since this move is going to come out of my wallet, I consider free boxes a hell of a find.

Received a call from the wife mid-afternoon.  They day was not going well at work and I decided that the evening called for a bottle of wine or two or . . . Long story short, what started as an innocent way to unwind after a long day turned into a full blown bender once the kids went to bed.  Exhausting our chilled Clairet and oaky White, my wife was none too keen on proceeding to a room temperature red so she switched over to my stash of Crown Royal.  Having no cola to mix the devil drink with, she decided that it might be smashing with a splash of Orangina.  She seemed to find it agreeable despite damned near choking to death on it.  The mere thought of the concoction gives me the chills.  The wife did well and slipped into a comma like sleep, while I received a raging headache and an urgent need to purge the contents of my stomach.  Unfortunately, the closest facility at the time was our already plugged second toilette.  That's right, old Smokey's initial fix did not take and once again it ceases to flush.  Cleaning up this disaster is not going to be a joy come morning.

For now I rest content on the morning of Day 111 that this will be the shittiest I feel for the day and hope that I never see a bottle of wine again.  Take care for now.  R.