Animals by Frank O’Hara

Super depressing to be going through all of your stuff again to find things to sell or purge. This is probably the third or fourth time I’ve done it since separating back in early May and moving back in with my parents. It’s depressing for several reasons. You wish you didn’t have to get rid of stuff just because it reminds you of her. You get angry that all you have left is stuff, when you don’t even care about stuff that much. You get angry because she has a house full of wedding gifts that complete her happy little home. You get angry because it’s not your home anymore. You know you aren’t going to make much money from selling stuff, at least not enough money to make it feel like it’s worth the trouble. But you need every penny that you can scrounge up because bills & taxes & debts are still there and living cost money. You get upset with yourself at having already given away lots of nice clothing that you might have been able to sell. You get upset over and over again at the entire situation. You wish you could just keep selling and paring down everything you own until there is nothing left. No stuff. No bills. No debts. No self. Wipe the hard drive clean. Gone. Nothing left to leave behind.