I called my landlord tonight to tell him I’m moving out. The one complication: I don’t yet have my next apartment lined up although El Martin and I have decided to find a place. This at least provides motivation to the hunt and some urgency. As I drove home through the rain, I decided if I can’t find a place then I can at least afford a small storage unit, a camp stove, and a twin mattress.
Note: storage place - serious. Living there - not serious. I’ll find something.
However, this does provide another impetus for reducing the size of my material possessions. I’ve got several books and albums I’ acquired since arriving here that I’m already willing to part with if I can find buyers. I ought to begin relisting my goods in order to let the number dwindle.
That said, anybody want to read a bad Michael Crichton novel about global warming? Hmm? Not even Al Gore? Okay. I didn’t read it either.