My Archive


I am a hoarder. I keep everything. My significant girlfriend wants to throw my shit away and I cry and whine, removing them from her trash piles and hiding them back in my house.
I keep telling her that I'm saving it for a yard sale but she says that no one wants to buy my stained, ripped up underwear.

While I wouldn't be ever selling my undergarments to the general public (they being reserved for a small fetish community in Finland) I do have some cool shit. I can only manage to part with a limited amount of it each day. Once I reach my quota, I start down the road of nostalgia and get caught on memory lane.

Of course, the signifiant girlfriend scoffs at the idea of a daily quota. Some days, I must admit, the quota is zero, but often I can be talked out of my things.

She says I'm emotionally tied to "every fucking little thing." I have an empathic link to inanimate objects. Just today I showed her some soap that I had moved to Alaska and back. It was some soap we had been "gifted" at Burning Man a few years ago. She was unimpressed and reminded me that I also moved rocks back and forth to Alaska. The return journey cost me 70¢ per pound. So if I do ever sell things on e-bay, I'm adding a 70¢ per pound surcharge to break even on the move.

I once read about a guy who sold everything he owned on e-bay. It took him a year but he sold even his old used toothbrush. What would one do with all that money? Probably go out and buy more shit.