Oh God, I hate this.
George Carlin, "Stuff"
Earlier this morning, the heroes at ARC of Davidson County came to my house and took away a pile of furniture and bags upon bags of clothes. It was at least one carload and one truck bed of stuff, and now it's gone, I'm so happy it's gone, and I'm going to write it off on next year's taxes. Let's just all agree I donated, like, $5,000 worth of stuff.
The Ohio Players, "Fire"
But not everything I don't want to take with me is in good enough shape to be donated. You can't donate busted dressers or shirts with holes in them. That's a dick move, and you are a bad person if that's how you get rid of your garbage. What do I plan on doing with all of this junk? I'll take it to a dumpster like a responsible adult citizen, but a very real part of me just wants to set it on fire.
Backstreet Boys, "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)"
In spite of all the moving hassle, I'm glad it's happening. My present location has taken me too far out of town for comfort. I much prefer sirens to owls. You know what's scarier than turning into your driveway and being confronted by a giant, living possum? Nothing. Possums, apparently, are huge when they're not flat, and I hope to never see one out of the confines of a zoo ever again. Anyway, the weather's great, a grocery store will soon be within walking distance, and I will have friends mere blocks away. Backstreet's Back! Party at my place.