Diary : Nothing is Precious Except Baby Taco Meat


The futon was Mike’s first bed. Foo liked to lay on it, especially in the crevice, like the meat in a taco. I would call her “baby taco meat” whenever she would do this.

It’s now with another owner. A jovial gentleman named John who said it would be perfect in his cabin in West Virginia.

The sound system walked out with a guy who lives in Virginia. He kindly asked to use our bathroom before taking the long ride home.

Our slate tables went to two young men who were getting their very first apartment together. They were preppy east coast boys that were wearing the same type of boat shoe. I asked if they were brothers. They were not.

I told them they had made a good decision because “these tables sure were nice and manly”.

Quickly our things are disappearing.

Craiglisters are so far pretty good people. There are the ones that respond in broken English and are pushy. You wonder if they are bots or criminals or what. Just avoid those.

If a Craigslist person responds in a friendly human way, you can bet that they will probably be good people.

This weekend we purged more clothes and tiny items – the things that require more exhausting micro-decisions.

“Do I really need this? Who would need this? Is it even worth anything? Will I regret giving away this brassiere?”

I sway between being OK and hesitating when it comes to purging. Mostly I’m OK with it though. When I remind myself that it’s all part of a bigger adventure.

And I say to myself…

Nothing is precious. Except for your husband and your cat.

And maybe your eye shadow collection.