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Meet My New Scaley Overlords

I'll just cut to the chase: the apartment building is infested with silverfish. Herbert and the spiders are delighted, being that they are mortal enemies of silverfish. I, however, am not so thrilled. My thousands of books aren't happy about it, either, as are my clothes. Honestly, if this apartment became infested with velociraptors and zombies, it would be a step up. Anyway. Today I priced storage lockers in Jersey City and the lower half of Manhattan. When I get my next paycheck, I'll visit the Container Store in Manhattan and pick up some plastic boxes, then start schlepping my eatable crap (in other words, every book and piece of paper I own, including photos, posters, stationary...) over to the storage unit.

This isn't an easy decision for me. I've never not been around all of my books. I NEED all of my books around me, especially my non-fiction, because I never know at any time when I'm going to have to look something up. But that's going to have to change. I'm not interested in having insects eat their way through my library, and many of the books aren't replaceable. So I'm just going to have to learn to plan in advance, take books out of my storage locker as I need them, and replace them when I'm finished. Reading for pleasure will have to be planned in advance, as well, as I can't just have to-be-read piles lying around the apartment. And I'll finally be doing what I said I'd never do: swapping out spring/summer clothes for fall/winter clothes. Anything I don't wear for the season will go into the plastic boxes, too.

I would say that I am too old for this shit, and I am so tired of this shit, but I don't think anyone cares. Even I don't, anymore. Although, and I am quite firm about this, if I am still living this kind of hand-to-mouth shithole existence by the time I retire, I will not hesitate to kill myself. I'm really not interested in being sixty or seventy or eighty years old and living in filth and vermin, watching everything I've ever worked to own go into trash cans until I have absolutely nothing at all. Quality before quantity, even in life.

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.

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