I Like You

Summer. I would like the entire year to be like you. I like being warm. Wearing sandals. Sorbet. Driving with the windows down. All of them. Hair like a rat's nest.

Know what else I like, still? Meat.

Full-time vegetarianism doesn't work. I like it most of the time, but every now & then I gots ta have some roasted chicken, a plate O carpaccio - something. It works. Body seems to like it.

Know what I don't like? Gunk. Clutter. Klooge. I have to de-clutter the house (again), clear out my head, clean out the "friends" list on stupid facecrap - purge the bullshit.

I'm swirling around in whirlpool of that foamy gunk you see in crappy little creeks & need to paddle the fuck out to something clean and clear and open and expansive.

I think I need to go for a run.

Whose Crap is This?

I keep unpacking box after box of crap and stuff and junk. Even after getting rid of so much stuff before the move, it's obvious we had no idea just how much crap, stuff and junk we actually had.

Evidently I have a bag problem. And a bit of a shoe problem. And most likely a jacket/coat problem. I knew about the shoes, but the bags and jackets were sort-of a surprise.

We had a lot of hooks in our closets in Alameda. Things have a way of blending in when they're hanging up. Very different than when piled one on top of another in a large box.

And David has a book problem. A book and games problem, but I bet that's not a surprise to anyone who knows him.

The cats have a bit of a toy problem. Faux mice and tiny sparkly balls have been pulled out of the cat tree cubbies and littered all over the house. Countless more were found while unpacking and have been tossed.

All this crap seems to attract more crap - it's a friggin crap fest. I'm not even done unpacking and already I have a pile of stuff to take to Goodwill.