Free Municipal Trash Pick-up Is My Friend.

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So many things I never talk about. Like, that I’ve got 28 houseplants (plus one dead one). I’m so proud of them! Especially the foundlings–if I see a bedraggled plant on the curb, it comes home with me, gets fresh dirt and a pot, and often as not thrives. It’s about an hour a week, just taking care of them all. Spring makes me happy, because so many people throw plants away during spring cleaning. More plants! More plants!

Some of our other abundance is ridiculous. We have at least nine computers in this house, most of which work. Eight bookshelves, including several great whopping things, all fully loaded with books. Stacks of magazines.

I don’t know how many bikes. I’ll be going out there in a minute to find out, because when we cleared the front room of the garage for the car, we crammed an amazing amount of crap into the back room. The back room is also where Dan lived most of his last year. I couldn’t very well clean it out in winter, but I’m going out t here in a minute. First thing will be to pull all the bikes out–working bikes, busted bikes and bike parts tumbled all over each other. It’s such a mess, the only things you can get at are the three things I need all the time: my bike, the two bins of wild bird seed, and the three snow shovels. If you need to get at the hardware and tools, though, you’re out of luck.

So all that comes out. Then, get rid of excess furniture. Dan’s cot can come in as a bed for Kid A, for when he comes home on leave. (The Kid’s grimy, flea-infested futon goes out to the curb.) I’ve got my eye on a little end table; it’s currently piled on top of the table saw, and behind so many bikes and hoses and milk crates full of scrap wood I can’t get at it.

After furniture, the sad stuff. You know, cigarette butts and baseball caps. Rotted and frozen bits of food the chipmunk somehow missed. Stay booze bottles. Morphine.

I’m not naturally inclined to be a slob. My own bedroom is always tidy; it’s actually rather beautiful. I will shape this place up. Crud pulls time backwards.

Today, the garage. I can’t afford to break my neck climbing over all that junk next time I need a nail.

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