Mallory's Camera

There's a fine line between hoarding and keeping some object that's not useful now but might be useful some time in the future.

And that line's always been difficult for me!!!

That printer that's sat untouched on the wooden fox chest for the past two years? That I hadn't used for a couple of years before that? Well, I mean, I might use it someday, right?

NOT!!!!

How about all those really adorable little metal canisters that cannabis gummies come in? (I use cannabis gummies to sleep.) They're so friggin' cute! I could make tiny little elf retablos out of them—

TOSS!!!

What about those W2s and other income verification forms circa 2020 that I will really need if the IRS decides to investigate me—

OUT!!!

I really need to take advantage of real-life Flavia's bottomless dumpster, so have been going through as much stuff as I can. This would be much easier if I actually knew where I was moving: Some useless clutter might be okay moving to Ithaca in a U-Haul truck. Not to Michigan, though, for which I'm almost certainly gonna have to hire a professional mover.

But Flavia's bottomless dumpster is only gonna be around this week.

Not that I have a lot of stuff. When I lost the house in Monterey and after that, the storage units where the stuff in that house was stashed, I lost the majority of my earthly goods. I've been traveling very light since then. But still. My carved wooden fox chest (that Flavia actually gave me, come to think of it), my standing desk, and one bookcase are the only big items I'd take to Michigan—where T has been living for a billion years and presumably has a house crammed with furniture.

But if I move to Ithaca, I'm gonna take my beautiful fainting couch and my little camp bed (and I'll wish Brian's very nice dining room table that nobody on craigslist seems to want, even though it's free-eee-eeee!)

The whole process feels overwhelming.

###

Today's free-floating anxiety is coalescing around two things:

• Getting to the airport: I'm flying out of LaGuardia—a much nicer airport than JFK but also more difficult to get to. I'm coming down to the City the day before to play with Carl; I'll sleep over at his apartment.

To get to LaGuardia the following morning, I'll need to take the 1 subway to Times Square, hop on the 7 to Queens, and then take the free-eee-eeee magic bus to LaGuardia—which I think I've done before, so why am I panicking and fantasizing on dropping $100 on an Uber??? The fantasy of control! Like ground traffic at rush hour is somehow gonna be more efficient than taking public transportation.

• The cats: Specifically Mabel Cat who is one cantankerous animal. She still hisses at me occasionally. How the hell am I gonna get her into the cat carrier—(a) to get her to the vet (because she'll need her vaccinations updated) and (b) to get her to her new home?

I forgive Mabel her cantankerousness—because I suspect she was badly abused as a kitten (that two-inch scar beneath her ear.) She is not the cuddly familiar I want, but she can't help being what she is, and she is affectionate in her way, flopping down on my feet for pets and kneading vigerously on any item of clothing I leave around the Patrizia-torium that smells like me. Mostly, though, I feel a strong obligation toward her. She's dependent on me (whether she knows it or not.) And nobody else would ever want her.

But how the hell am I ever gonna wrangle her for this move???



Really, I want to go to bed and sleep for three months.

But that is not an option.