I’m sure I’m giving away too many secrets now, but I just found approximately 380 tons of crap under my bed during an unusual spate of semi-annual housecleaning. Although I generally keep the house reasonably tidy (at least the parts strangers see) I always, routinely, whether it needs it or not, do the whole “move the bed to the other side of the room and excavate” about every, oh, let’s see… how long have I lived here now? Let’s call it three years.
It is in fact an archaeological undertaking, since by this time there are discernible layers of sediment (mostly books, crap, cobwebs, the occasional pizza box, Molson bottle, cobwebs, books, and crap), and picks and shovels are pretty much totally required. Now, I can finally sit cross-legged on the floor, sorting through all the discarded bedtime reading I’ve enjoyed enough to toss over the far side of the bedframe. Books that I think I’ll read again I throw on one pile. the others go on the bigger pile.
I have to be much crueler and more ruthless these days in thinning the herd of books. I live in a house about the size of a ziplock bag, so I have to be very disciplined about space. In light of this, I might hold a chilly, late Autumn yard sale, sell all my trashy novels, sexy underwear, and Prince posters for a dollar a piece, then pocket the cash for the trip to Amsterdam. Ya know, liquidate our assets and such. Hey, the way I see it, every dollar saved here is another bitteballen on the Prinsengracht. Whatever that means.
From what I can tell from the guide books, Amsterdam will provide lots of breakfast in the form of ham and cheese sandwiches, lunches in the form of soup and bread, and dinner in the form of whatever delicious Indian/Dutch/Whatnot traditional food I could ask for. I’m in.