Have you been trying to call me?
Because my phone has been under a heap of stuff.
I can’t believe I’ve lived my entire life without having a rummage sale, and tomorrow I’m going to.
Not ME, personally… There’s a big group rummage sale at school, and I was thinking there’s safety in numbers, right?
Also in numbers: contagious pathogens & ideological extremism.
Plus, this is my stuff! MY stuff! It has lived within my energetic sphere and so become part of ME. How could I put a price on it?
Seriously, how can I put a price on it? Is it worth a buck? Ten bucks? Nothing?
Every time I pick up an item, I feel a squeezing in my chest. My arms feel heavy. My body shakes… I used to go to nightclubs and tell jokes. People told me I wasn’t funny, I was just embarrassing myself (thanks, mom & dad…) That kind of rejection I can handle. But my stuff has real feelings and emotions!
What would Marie Kondo say? Pimping out items that used to spark joy? If you think it’s creepy the way socks don’t like to have their cuffs rolled over, what about when some greaseball runs his sweaty hands over your circa 1990 winter jacket?
What have I done?! Oh, I’m sorry, stuff. But look on the bright side: you’re starting a whole new life! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a shower.
Click here to find out what happened after the sale!