Diablevert

Moving Schools

Hey, it was only two weeks ago.

My roomates and I are of two different schools when it comes to moving. They're Fuckits and I'm a Score! They: “Damn, that bookcase is both heavy and ugly. Fuck it, let’s just buy a new one.” Me: “Hey, they left behind their ice cube trays! Score!” Money for pleasure I easily spend --- beer, books, food, wine, tickets, amusements, trinkets, presents --- but damn do I hate buying saran wrap. Or garbage bags or aluminum foil or extension cords or mildew remover. In college, through sheer happenstance, I managed to be the last one moving out of my suite almost every time, and thus scored, in part: innumerable extension cords, cleaning supplies, beer, a TV, a professional grade artist’s supply box complete with easel, canvas and about 40 tubes of oil paint, and David Sedaris’ Barrel Fever. I’ve yet to actually purchase a coat hanger in my adult life. It’s amazing the things people will just huck out --- Fuckits love the illusion of a burden lifted. I think it’s the sense of waste and necessity combined which so irks me --- The idea that I need something, but don’t really want it; that its acquisition will merely be an irritation removed rather that a pleasure gained. Or, to be as succinct as I ought to have been from the start, I feel like, Dammit, I could have spent this money on booze.