Creeping Through The Cellar Door (none_too_subtle) wrote,
Creeping Through The Cellar Door
none_too_subtle

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Should get in on the franchise while I'm at it

I need to get rid of these movies. This morning, I did a drive-by count, and I have more than 1,000. THIS IS CRAZY.

Movies in 1998: 0
Movies in 2004: 547285782357823957892


This allll goes back to that iffy time in my life, but has become a weird collection that I continue amassing. Since I own so many and such diverse genres, I feel it's time to purge.



Reeling
So. I have a gazillion movies, and really don't know how to get rid of them -- only that I must if I am truly to complete this cycle of purging. In fact, I have SO many movies, that every single room houses at least 20. This doesn't include the secret closets which are piled high with ones that I don't watch often (if ever). So how to sell them quickly, get rid of them, and at least try to nest this place up a little bit? A yard sale? Err...ack. E-bay? I've never sold anything on E-bay, but can imagine how expensive that could be with S&H. Many of these movies are collectibles. Some I'd never part with. But most of them gotta go, yo. This doesn't include Adele's movies (which I think I'll keep all of). It was a tradeoff when it first began. I used to stop by either B&N or BAM once a week, sift through the bargain bin, and buy books. So my book collection is also everywhere, but I'll never sell or get rid of those. Perhaps I should compile a list of all my movies, and piggyback a website to sell 'em all off. Hrm. Or maybe in bulk. Whatever, I need to get rid of them. This is after I unloaded 300 other movies. Just crazy, and junky. Plus, I'm tired of dusting those fargin' things every other day. I'm sure it's contributing to allergies.

Since I am trying to streamline (but am a hopeless packrat), this seems like the most logical collection of 'things to get rid of.' But other than these, I can't bear to part with old love letters, notes, albums filled with ticket stubs...all those memories of other countries, states, people, activities...mapping out the journey of my life. Fortunately, the one thing I'm meticulous about is catalogueing. Each album (and all photos) have dates, places, names that I can't forget. All are neatly tucked away, but take up a great deal of room. Meh. This is why I kind of resent the digital era. No more "letters" or hard-copy messages. None of THAT, when you can zip an e-mail off to whomever. Thus, we have no scraps of memories. Even our pictures have become digital. We need to uninvent some things, I'm thinking. I miss the old way of storing and saving things. There's something particularly piquant about smoothing a hand over worn leather, engravings, and textures of hard copy anythings. And let's face it -- while I stare at a monitor almost all day long, the last thing I really want to do is continue staring, because all my correspondence has evolved here. Blehh. Freakin' baby boomers. We may be the best parents; but I'm not knowing that next-stepping our memories was the smartest thing to do. This is why I don't feel that any good magazine or publication will ever go totally digital. People like their hard copies (which was an argument I won whilst working for a large publishing house). With continuing technology, it's true that anyone can download, well, anything onto a palmpilot, etc., including our freakin' journals, if we're on their 'newsgroups.' Kinda disconcerting. And now, I'm ramblingggggggg on.

Don't hate tha playah; hate tha game
So I woke up almost laughing this morning because of a dream. LOL. The dream was borne from a movie I halfway listened to yesterday about a man who was juggling multiple fiances, and pretty much robbing them blind. In my dream, King Richard, of course, was the playah. I don't remember much about the movie but only that there were a bunch of really REALLY ugly, spiteful, hateful women confronting him. I was there to report the story (or write the book? LOL). It would be apropos, if he'd ever 'gold-dug' his way around, instead of lying to multiple women at a time (allll of whom ended up calling me, because I was stupid enough to marry him for five minutes). Er...I never even took or used his last name. So for all the women who're being played by The Warden, don't CALL ME, MKAY? This of course is brought on by another bout of anonymous/blocked phone calls. Goody. It can only be from one of two sources at this point. Thank GOD my cell company keeps firm records of, er, everything. :-D The dream, however, was funny. Richard had lost ALL of his hair, he had this huge gut, was dressed poorly, and...um...yeah. I remember feeling sort of bad for him, since he lost the only good qualities he ever really had. But I was on a mission in my dream, and the confrontation was hilarious. Say goodbye to the uber metrosexual. Heh. I suppose it COULD be construed as a nightmare, since he was in it. Butttt...due to the nature OF the dream, it was funny. :) I'm on a roll with my dreams these days. And I even slept well last night, leaving a window cracked.

It's amazing what ya can do
When I really put my mind to getting things done and stay focused -- one thing at a time -- I zip through work like nobody's business. I need to be busier. Even on the employment hunt. I've been making lists (gotta, or I'll forget something), and wake up so early in the morning, that by 2, I'm usually through for the day. It's no wonder I go to bed so early. Everything's done, and I'm an antisocial creature these days. Maybe I should volunteer more during the week while looking for full-time employment. Hm.

I still hate my hair. GROWWWWWWWWW. GROWWWWWWWWWW.

*eyeballs razor*

Scoot. Lunch is ovah.
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