Well. That happened.

So, gismonda and I have been living together for nearly two weeks and we haven't strangled each other yet! (I don't think there's anything inherent to either of us that would make that likely, but we'd both been living alone for a very, very long time. I can't speak to her foibles, but I'm afraid I've become rather eccentric.)

I did the thing I always do every time I move, which is pledge to reevaluate my relationship with my stuff. I know I have too much stuff, I hate having so much stuff, and I always promise that One Of These Days I'm going to purge. It never happens. I'm not one of these people who believes that one's collection of detritus is, like, the window to their soul or any of that folderol. My problem is that I just can't throw anything away--not because I think I may need it someday, mind, but rather because I form odd little emotional attachments with the oddest things, like Pez dispensers. They dont really bring me any joy (except for the Boba Fett one), but I just can't bring myself to get rid of them. It's all this weird convoluted thing about how my stuff reminds me of the people who gave it to me. So it would be more precise to say that my weird emotional attachments are toward people rather than objects.

And isn't that much more healthy?