I have three pair of scissors. Four if you count the Joyce Chen's. One I got when I was working at EA and needed a pair often enough to rationalize buying one. One Mom sent me in the endless supply of stuff she's getting rid of and one I got years ago to cut yarn.
I mean.
Why?
How did this happen?
It's sort of good to have a pair in the kitchen (other than the JC's since they are for food alone) and a pair at the desk. I guess.
I have lived in my apartment longer than I have lived anywhere, ever. I have many, many more books. More clothes. Furniture that I like. Kitchen stuff. Posters in frames. Little plastic animals that came out of bars in three different states.
I mean ...
The thing is I kind of like it. Not the three (four) pair of scissors exactly. It feels like I'm more rooted than I've ever been. It's not true because someday I will need to move to a place with no stairs.
Oh. Lord. How many boxes will I need?
6 comments:
A LOT of boxes, if you're going to keep your library of books, Tish!
As for scissors, in my flat there are the "good" scissors in the desk drawer, the new kitchen shears, the old ones (for cutting up pizza boxes, etc.) the scissors I keep by my chair, an extra pair in the pencil cup on the desk... Can one have too many pairs?
I guess not. :-)
I've been entertaining a fantasy that when one of the first-floor tenants moves out of your building (yeah, that's gonna happen, right?) you could just move straight downstairs. Given a stretch of days, you could re-use your boxes as you unpack.
Did I mention it's a fantasy?
Ohhhhh actually one of those apartments is open. 2200 a month. Picture my eye roll.
Buy a lottery ticket! Mega Millions!
If I win the lotto you and I both will move to better digs. :-)
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