I’ve been in the stuff-collecting business for about 25 years. You could say I was born into it. I’ve really only come into my own in the last 10, since I started practicing solo. But even in that short time, I’ve surpassed my pedigree’s wildest expections. Friends who’ve moved me anytime since college began can attest—I’m an Olympic-caliber pack rat.
So I’ve been due for a good excuse to cleanse myself for a long time now. With the impending merging of properties, that excuse presented itself loudly and clearly.
We bring you: Purging Weekend. Wherein our contestants have two days to sort through all of their earthly belongings and relegate all that is unholy to the recycle heap. He or she who sheds the most gets dubbed the Purging God and is treated to a three-course meal… and a bottle of Ipecac.
I went first. You would be AMAZED with the amount of crap I never thought I could do without. (Unless you’re an old roommate, in which case, you’re following just fine.) Broken answering machines. Shirts unworn since a Democratic presidency. Books from college courses that I never read the first time around. But then came Saturday, when the spirit of minimalism seized me and shook those demons loose. “Out, unused crap!” they said. “Find yourself a better home!”
The next morning the same spirit took over Sarah. It was just as exhausting, and fortunately no one was left crying in a corner. Except for those pesky demons.
Which brings us to this coming weekend, and the occasion of the final party for either of us as renters. We’re calling it our housecooling party. Instead of a ‘warming, where one comes with gifts, people are being invited to cool the place down, and take take take. Clothes. Books (hundreds!). Dozens of Harper’s and Brill’s Content magazines. My once-cherished, now-despised, autographed (and framed!) David Copperfield poster. Take it all, please. We don’t want it. We don’t need it.
There’s no way it’s all going to go, of course. The remains we’ll pile into the car and dump at the front stoop at the Brown Elephant—and then speed away before they can tell us how little need they have for more George Michael CDs. Back to our homes we’ll go, free of the weighty burdens of our past, eagerly awaiting a lighter, speedier moving day.