underused

The problem of moving into a house full of stuff is that it's a house full of stuff. We already had stuff. After two years, we still have unpacked boxes because there's nowhere to put what's in them.



Yesterday I spent the whole day tackling a pile of boxes marked "office." It was mostly music and assorted desk trash. The last box was a collection of magazines--I thought. But when I opened it I found a slew of reference books I'd totally forgotten. Now, as ever, I'm faced with one of the recurring dilemmas of my life: do I get rid of my old literature anthologies or what?

They're so big and pointless... but what if there's a Keats emergency? What if the internet closes? What if there's a total societal collapse and our only chance at survival is to fall in with a band of militant intellectuals who demand we quote Adrienne Rich? What then, hey?

At least I've found my DIY taxidermy book. Maybe the preppers will barter.

♦

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