Sweet Jaysus it’s just sad, triste as they say in these parts. I’ve started packing and I’m dismayed to see just how much stuff I’ve accumulated. I mean how can a person who sold off all her worldly goods just 2 years ago have so much crap? There’s a pale turquoise vacuum cleaner, an Ikea love seat that I think was once off-white but is now more accurately described as dingy. There are 2 desks, a old dining room table found in a dusty French shop, a wooden étagère that holds stacks of plates and bowls and Rusty’s giant coffee cups. Which leads to a coffee maker and a toaster and a TV and so on and so on.

Naturally, all these things had to be brought into my life in order for me to actually live it. I’m not a total idiot, I do get that. But I can’t help wishing I could sell it all off again, just load up the car and race off, all footloose and fancy free. I know that doing that would come at a cost—money, time and the aggravation of sourcing things in a strange and expensive land (Kitchen Aid mixers sell at over 1000 bucks), but still.

I’m a wanna be minimalist at heart but my brain knows better. Of course I do need a couch and a desk and a chair for my now much written about arse. All is not lost though. We’ve managed to sell off our kitchen appliances which will offset the cost of the move. Sometimes you just get lucky in this life. There is a lovely woman right here in Semur, moving the same day we are, who needs the things we don’t. What are the odds?

Anyway, I’m…what’s the word?…relieved, yes, relieved that in my new Swiss life the fridge, stove and dishwasher (thanks be to all that is holy there’s a dishwasher) are available to me but owned by someone else. And relieved that there’s only so much a one bedroom + den apartment can hold. For some reason, I have yet to turn my shrink powers toward the peace I find in fewer possessions. The less I own, the calmer I feel. And yet having more shoes seems like a good idea. It’s a complicated state of mind.

I have no idea why my stuff is having this effect on me and it’s hard to fully describe—the words edgy and irritable spring to mind. Impending menopause is a likely explanation. God knows I use that one to justify about 90 per cent of my behaviour these days. Alternatively it could be that I was some sort of criminal in a past life, someone who was always on the lam and in need of a quick, unfettered getaway. Or maybe I’m just a crotchety old bag with no tolerance for anything in my house that doesn’t serve a vital purpose.

So, over the next few days my plan is to be more ruthless than I have ever been, purging like my life depends on it. If it’s not absolutely essential to my happiness, out it’s going. Neil is looking nervous and he doesn’t know the half of it. He stops cooking for one night and I’m putting him up for auction on eBay. Something tells me I could make a fortune on him.

 

 

 

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