Pic of the day: This picture, taken earlier this fall, is part of where I go from my current apartment to the new one. There is something almost symbolic in how it seems to narrow to near nothingness. Then again, it is clearly a matter of perspective.
Today I went over and looked at the place I intend to rent next. Despite their claims to the contrary, it is visibly A LOT smaller than this one. I can't believe the difference. There is no way it is 55 square meters even if you include the outer walls. When I came back here and saw my current apartment, I was amazed at how huge it was.
On the bright side, it is cheaper, it has all the necessary rooms (although they are small) and not least, most of the stuff I have is garbage. Not necessarily in a literal sense, but when you haven't read a book or magazine in 10 or 15 years, why do you hold on to it? How likely is it that I am going to play a computer game that is on 5.25" floppies and designed to run on the IBM AT or compatible? The computer that broke down in 1993, am I really going to get it fixed? I don't think so.
I need to get someone with a suitable car and drive a lot of my stuff to the landfill. Half of my stuff, perhaps. I really don't think this flat is twice as large as that one. As for the books, there is a used book store in the city. I intend to start carrying with me a bag of used books each day I go to work, and dump them there. Whether I get paid for them or not is unimportant. But I don't burn books. Well, they have to be beyond horrible for me to do that.
I'm still not sure what to do about the clothes. Those that are worn too thin or have holes anywhere, even if not visible, should probably go to the landfill. But what about those who are now numerous sizes too large? I assume that I will never grow to that size again, but that depends entirely on my illness never being cured. If I again tolerate fat, I am likely to eat it again and revert to my natural size. I have an appointment with a computer tomograph on December 6th.
My bed is almost completely dissolved by now. The springs come through the mattress but are stopped by a couple layers of sheets. It needs to go too, and I should do it when I move. (Presumably late December.) That means I need to get a new one. I am used to having a double bed, but I think I will get used to not having it.
The previous owner had a black cat. He took it with him when he moved, but the cat thought otherwise. It returned to the apartment, and waited outside the door. If I had moved in now, I suppose I would have let it in rather than let it freeze to death... the temperature is falling below zero this coming weekend and snow can't be far off. But I'm not likely to move in for about a month. The cat is probably dead by then, unless its owner tries to pick it up again. It may have changed its mind by now.
I can't help but wonder if I am in the same position as the cat. Did I choose this apartment because of the many happy memories of Supergirl and her family who used to live nearby? But they don't live there anymore, and while my body is doing better than in a long time, I am not sure my humanity is going to survive the november nights of my life. What I will be without it, I cannot even imagine yet.
I plan to keep two chairs, though. One for myself and one for a guest. Just in case.
Visit the archive page for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.