Maisy wanted to take some slacks (that were too long), to a consignment store today, so we visited "Such-A-Deal" on Old Mill Plain Road. We wobbled up the stairs into a well-stocked, nicely arranged shop. She consigned her slacks and found a purple sweater to take home. I consigned three jackets and a sequined top - pink, lavender and silver on black. I don't even know anyone who can envision me in a sequined top these days. I don't think I ever wore it. I have no idea when I wore any of them, if ever. However I know were I got all of them ... in one of three second hand stores I frequent.
While it felt good to shed a few items, the pile that still lives here is a problem. I could easily disappear under unopened mail and half-read books. My world sits low in the water, like a sinking dingy, overburdened with past collections both physical and psychological. That's an idea. A mental junk sale. What kind of buyers would that attract? Probably writers of all genre, looking for quirky character traits, freshly spoiled relationships, tipsy metaphor and other such debris.
After we got home Maisy also wanted to walk around the block (It's a pretty steeply draped slap of pavement I must say.) We did. It was good for us both. She did well but was happy to get inside and put on slippers. Now I have to get ready for work tonight. Afterwards I get to walk the dog around the block.
