The room I'm renting in Laura's home has been reduced to bare bones.
*bed (not sold because her brother and sister in law will be moving in and using it)
*bass amp and bass guitar (Laura asked to keep these; but this is code for My Albatross)
*Grandmother's two chairs (they stay because I'd risk familial isolation by ridding myself of them)
Things I am taking with me:
*clothes (explained in previous post) & 3 pr. shoes; sneakers, dress shoes, and boots
*various toiletries (toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, wax, dental floss, rubber dental pik, deodorent, Mary Kate and Ashley perfume--gimme a break ok!, razor, contact lenses)
*art supplies (wood cutting tools, acrylic, shellac, laytex, and watercolors, crayons, markers, paper, scissors, razor, ink pens, sharpies)
*datebook and filing area
Even this--this list, which is my whole life now--seems gluttonous. THREE pairs of shoes? I feel so much wanting to justify every item, and I wonder if it's because I'm met with such differing responses in regard to this project.
Each step is faced with the reasoning that I don't have to do this. I don't have to tack up pictures of my friends and family around the state. I don't have to get rid of all of the spoons I've collected since I was eight. I don't have to get rid of the zines I laboured over in jr and high school.
The decisiveness and self-inflicted necessity of this project is what motivates. By removing physical things, I am allowing myself to remember the numb root feeling of experiences I've had--only those experiences that have the liberty of sticking to my powerhouse.
I want so much to be a clean slate; to soak up as much as I can from my very calculated impending nomadic adventure.