A few days ago, I dug through a lot of my old stuff laying around the house. I get these crazy urges to sift through my place in an attempt to gather up unwanted wares to be released into the wild. For my own, personal freedom and for the good of keeping the clutter down. Now, these urges or aren't entirely random nor animalistic. There's a reason behind it, a shotgun blast of energy and devotion. It's usually caused by one of two things:
I'll sometimes watch a movie where the lead character will have this amazingly simple and elegant house, full of modern furniture and hip finesse, with stainless steel fridges and an eight thousand dollar dinner table. I'll become jealous over this, because I want that, too. Only the rich and fabulous have appliances like that. Only the rich have mastered such minimalistic style!
The independence! The walking space! The chic-ness! I want that! I will light a match to my place, let it all burn down and start anew from the ashes!
The other reason:
I need more room for even more shit.
Ughghh, I hate to admit it but in the last week I've become obsessed with "vinyl art toys." This could mean a lot of varying things to various people, but this is what it means to me:
Sadly, if you know anything about this weird, semi-underground culture, you know that these figures are molded, hand-painted and are sold for hundreds of dollars each. Seventy/eighty bucks if you're lucky. These specific mutants were done by someone/something called Splurtt, and are virtually nonexistent because that's how hard it is to buy one. It's all so underground and seedy. To me, this is total and absolute fun, and the idea that each piece is really rare and hard to acquire makes the entire package all the more enticing. It's like dealing in drugs and not knowing where drugs are. I don't know what's what and who's who...and I love it!
The price, I assume, is based on individual uniqueness, the artistic, human touch and limited availability. It's a lot to ask for, and it seems like a giant waste of cash for anyone but they're just so damn cool looking.
I wanted to dump the stuff I don't look at, read or watch anymore to simultaneously make room and a few bucks towards my fresh and exciting endeavor. The idea is stupid (really, a hundred bucks for one toy?) but I kept on keeping on. I figured that if I was going in, I'd go ALL in. Go big or go home, I say's.
And if I happen to lose interest halfway through, not to worry! That's what I do best!
So I sifted, pillaged and sorted through bins, shelves and, yeah...my steam engine of excitement totally sputtered out. I blame the adult realization (seriously, a hundred bucks for one toy?!) and a thick layer of white, death-dust for pumping the brakes on the fun like a sumbitch.
I understand the importance of dusting. I do, really. In fact, every week I make sure to liberally use my handheld Swiffer to eliminate that bullshit from the endless shelves of even more bullshit. It's bullshit upon bullshit. And I Swiff that shit up.
I was going through DVDs, books and those glass display shelves you buy from Ikea. I swore that I dusted pretty regularly, but it was all that built up, locked away and hidden dust, ya know? You know, the dust that's underneath the things I don't bother to pick up and dust under. I so totally didn't get rid of anything but so totally got a load of dust to the face.
It's not like I initially felt dust collect into my mouth and into my body. I wasn't all, "Oh, this is a lot of dust I should wear a mask or something oh yes!" It was all so quick and sudden and meager. It didn't look especially dusty, is what I'm trying to say.
I dunno. I guess that dust is bad for you, because the next morning I woke up crippled. I felt like a had the flu, was hungover, dead, etc. I still feel like this, and can only imagine that this will last forever. No exaggeration. My throat hurts, my head aches, my bones feel brittle and wafer-like. These will be my last words and will and testament and all that jazz.
Never again will I kick up dust. Never again will I clean. Never again will I bother!
I can't believe I wrote about dust.
I HATE DUST.