Selling the Farm III

Moving is a humbling experience (see parts 1 & 2). If ever you feel too comfortable – move. If ever you feel like you have way too much stuff – move. If ever you had the slightest feeling of control over your life, destiny and stuff like that there… MOVE! Pulling up stakes is the panacea for the next generation. The average person does it seven times during their whole lives – and as you can see by the masses of well-adjusted average human bings [sic] out in the world, it must be true.

I’ve been living in a minimalist nightmare for well over 2 weeks now. The walls are bare and blue. The dressers are no longer cluttered by neat stuff; they’re not cluttered, period. And my computer desk is no more; replaced by a writing table from the basement that looks like it could have been home to a chamber pot in it’s day. Take away my sharp objects and I’d been in a Victorian-era sanitarium!

I would post pictures, but I don’t remember which box has my camera.

But it’s not all bad. You begin to remember things. Life flashes before your eyes in various formats. Yesterday I found an old VHS (archaic, I know) of my 8th grade class doing some sort of news/entertainment show on the local community access TV. And there I was, in my weenie glory doing a Winter Olympic recap – my first television appearance.

At least I ended my segment with a good old fashioned “…and now for something completely different…,” now realizing that I was probably the only one to get that reference. At least I had culture back then. Of course, the tape had to have been cued up to my grammar school crush – whose identity shall remain unknown, even to her (that story sometimes else, now shh!). Then the flash backs came of high school and my freshman year madness from never telling her. ETC ETC ETC. The good news is that I’ve grown and have other fish to pine over now.

But don’t think it’s only grade school misery that’s haunting me now – no sir. Junior year of college is making a come back, as my box spring is in the trash and my mattress is on the floor. Had to do this back in college because its not a good thing to elevate a sleepwalker’s bed six feet over his desk… so instead of breaking something I slept on the floor. Good for the back and remains under the ever-present cloud of pot smoke. But that saga shall remain for another time.

So maybe the reminiscing thing isn’t all that good… but you learn things. That’s good, isn’t it?

I learned that life – all life everywhere – halts when bankers go on vacation. Yes, it is indeed and actually the bank’s fault I am still where I am, and not the lawyers’ fault as once thought. That still doesn’t mean lawyers as a race of people are off the hook, however! Don’t think your getting away that easy. But right now my anger must be focused at that bank.

I amend my previous statement – forget the blowgun, I can take out that vault with a dull spork! I mean seriously people; no one ever thought to check this tanning fool’s desk while he was away?

Anyway, at least the survey is done and now we’re all waiting to set a date to set the date for the closing, so we can high tail it south and become carpetbaggers. I’ve packed my winter jacket though, just in case the glaciers arrive before I do.

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Written by

Ryan Livingston

Ryan Livingston

Artist / Writer / internet disk jockey / retail wage slave / carbon based lifeform. Founder of the New World Otter and RML Studios