You can't take it with you.

I'm in the process of either selling, giving away, or throwing out all of my posessions that are too expensive or cumbersome to transport to New York when I move in a couple of weeks. My progress feels a little counterproductive at times; my Stuff Ratio of Purged to Gained is about 2:1.

Case in point: I need enormous suitcases to house my massive apparel collection, since I might as well make my two bags that I am allowed to check on the flight as large as possible. After weeding out my closet for a painful second and third time, I managed to produce another garbage bag or two for the Salvation Army. This past Tuesday, Liz Vanderhoof came into town with a suitcase full of beautiful clothes to sell at the now-nonexistent The 'Ville, which she didn't know had closed down. I offered to buy some if she threw in the suitcase, which she agreed to. So now I have a suitcase, which won't hold as much as it could because now I have more clothes. Not as many as I threw out, but more nonetheless. I was able to throw out all my plastic CD jewel cases, but doing so required me to buy a CD binder. There are socks and books and trinkets that I need to return to friends, and other items I'll be shipping, but to do so I have to stock up on boxes.

I had to sell all of my Anne of Green Gables books. I haven't been able to let go of any stuffed animals yet. Sarah, Carley, and Jessica are getting my microwave, Nick might be buying my car, and I'm selling the furniture back to Hidden Treasures. This all feels a little morbid. "I want you to have my colored pencils. And to you, I leave my plastic storage bins and empty tubs." Like I know that I'm dying and I'm writing my will about who's getting what when I'm not around anymore.