Moving, moving, moving
In July of this year, my landlady told me she was selling the building I've inhabited for over 17 years. I have honestly never truly loved this apartment because it's on the first floor and on a corner so I can't leave my windows open to grab fresh air -- it's Chicago after all -- in the few months it's warm enough to enjoy that. People could climb in, toss things in, even simply feast upon my things and me with just their eyes so it's not at all ideal. But this place and I established a truce that went like this: I would live here, it would accommodate me and my things, it wouldn't require too much, and I would run a not-terribly-powerful a/c in the summer. Unfortunately, I stayed too long at the fair. I have managed to become more stockpiler than hoarder but there is a lot of stuff, knickknack, objets , books. Personal papers of both of my parents, personal papers of my own, hobbies acquired and hobbies abandoned before being adequately purs...