Heaving, Upheaval

Fuck that nonsense, Adolf.

I'm not proud to admit it, but for the last several weeks, ever since Bill & Edgar abandoned me to the East Coast and I acquired some furniture from them, said furniture has sat in the front rooms of my house, creating a sort of high-walled path from kitchen through to the bedroom.

Sad.

So, this morning, in anticipation of the big birthday bash at my place next weekend, I've started moving shit around...throwing shit away...this also involves a huge cleanup of the backyard, with folks coming in to carry away the stuff I've been meaning to get rid of for the longest time.

Flux, people. Flux. It's all about momentum for me. My coefficient of static inertia is high, y'all, but once the stuff starts moving, it moves. I don't suffer from the same material-nihilism that my mother and my younger brother are burdened with ("it's almost pleasurable to just throw things out!"), and on the contrary, I have a decided fear of spaces left empty (read that in every possible way), but changes are afoot, and there are a foot of changes to my list of things to do.

Ajax may clean like a white tornado, but you haven't seen Reverend Peaches change the world, gorrrrls.