For sale: My life. All reasonable offers considered.

Eight hundred bucks brought in so far with only half the goods gone. All our worldly possessions up for grabs over the course of 3 days.

From the wee hours on Friday morning to the Sunday afternoon drivers, Strangers looking everything over with a critical eye and a tight grip on their coin. We sellers trying to add some sort of intangible value to close the deal on insignificant implements. Exhausting. Sorting, cleaning, arranging, moving, covering, re-sorting, more arranging, moving again, and covering in and out of rain showers. Taking stock of all that we own- yet disavow. Still trying to peddle some larger furniture pieces, granting neighbors free picks, donating stuffed animals, puzzles and stationary to the nursing home, giving over the board games to the pub, the rest ending up at the SPCA thrift store to be pecked at once again. The oh-so-menial things collected over decades that once defined us by proximity are unceremoniously scattered to color the lives of others. When everything in this world is rooted in the black and red of the ledger- and disparate of sentimental value, I’m afraid my worth as it sits on the driveway wouldn’t amount to much. Never before did we yearn like we do now for the impending clarity of owning very little, anticipating a freedom like none other.

PS- The dog is not for sale.


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