moving.
"Really makes ya think, huh?"
Moving means relocating you, and everything you own from A to B. This week, i am moving, but i dont know where i will end up. I do not yet have another home to go to. I am terrified. I can physically feel the fear in my body. I feel it in my stomach. The stressful fear is enough to make my balls shrivel up. I fear they will climb back into my ass, where i assume they came from.
I know i will start studying in Copenhagen, but i do not have a place there yet. Sometimes questions like, “what if i never find a place” will start creeping into my frontal lobe of the brain. (Which by the way is my second favourite lobe, right after the ear-lobe).
These increasingly unnerving questions are somewhat necessary, because without them i will never get anything done. However, i often enjoy listening to these voices. I have befriended them.
I was born amongst these voices, and have grown immune to them. These voices dont translate to action. Usually they just end up paralyzing me. I feel paralyzed by the mountain of tasks that i am facing. I feel like i am always stressed. This is the fourth year in a row where i have moved. Fuck this shit.
I have moved many times during my lifetime. This will technically be the third time i move across a country border. I’d like to think I’m pretty good at moving. However, i am constantly surprised by the amount of shit i have collected since last time i moved. Moving is a mental exercise, because you have to actively think about what you value enough to bring with. Here are a few examples of annoying stuff i need to pass judgement upon:
Small knick-knacks, that have exlusively sentimental value. ( My favourite knick-knack is probably a computer mouse with a small duck floating in it, from my roommates web store duckmouse.no. )
Clothes that you really like, but dont really like. These are the clothes that have followed you for so long that it just feels wrong to get rid of them.
Useful things, but they are easily replaced at another location. This is stuff like office supplies, lamps, or deodorants. If only i was an illiterate stinky man living in a dark room, i would not have to think about this bullshit.
Books. These things suck balls. They are heavy, easy to replace, and kind of mostly unused. Who needs books when you have nuutti.no?
It is difficult to know what you want to transfer to your new home
At all times, there are two competing discourses in my head.
On one hand, I want to become immaterial:
Live in a barrel with no material possesions. Live the noble life of a nomad. A stoic man who chose to sign himself out of society.
On the other hand, i want to fuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkk
I am merely an ape who learned how to talk: can you blame me? I want material pleasure even though i want freedom from it. I want to win against the world. I am constantly grappling between proving the whole world wrong, or following the path of less resistance.
The duality of man.