Out with the Old, in with the BZZZZZZZZZ

Recently, in anticipation of moving yet again (ah, to be young and in debt), I've been going through my various possessions. Various with a capital V, really; I have SO MUCH SHIT. The pile for the thrift store is growing ever higher, and, despite being picked over thrice already by various friends and siblings, it is threatening to overspill its designated corner and wreak havoc on the rest of my otherwise orderly packing.

The task of purging such a clusterfuck of knick knacks and ill-fitting plaid shirts seemed daunting at first. But now I find myself eagerly anticipating going home to chuck out yet more junk. "And you!" I will say to a disturbingly shiny electic blue blazer with shoulder pads. "Why are you here? Why are you always here!? Get out!!" The same goes for a pair of long-since de-commissioned black boots, slowly mouldering in the coat closet, as well as about ten pounds of flyers, posters, and ticket stubs for various shows I've attended or preformed in over the past whoknowshowmany years. It's cathartic, as it always is, ridding myself of so much debris, now that I've been forced to actually get around to it.

But, amongst all the excess, there is one area in which I've noticed I could stand to do some serious hording. As I'm making a brief (hopefully Brief with a capital B) stopover with the parents to accumulate some rent money before I start apartment hunting again, I thought it best to be discreet with the contents of my upper right-hand dresser drawer... if you know what I mean. To my dismay, however, such discretion took almost no effort at all; all the lube, condoms, cock rings, vibrators, and sexual paraphernalia I own fit into what essentially amounts to a shoebox (it's actually the box from my old external hard-drive, but shoebox packs more colloquial punch, I find).

How did this happen!? How did I come to be so lax in my sex-toy connoisseurship? This will not stand! I must buy, buy, buy! Though, admittedly, this puts a bit of a dent in my "accumulating rent money" agenda. Maybe I can sell all my crap, instead of dumping it behind the thrift store as I had planned. There's got to be someone out there willing to give me good money for an unopened Swollen Members CD and about 20 metres of Claire's necklaces. Maybe they could even put them to new use... I mean, you know what they say: one person's trash is another's kinky sex playground. Right? Anyone? The CD's not even scratched...