I remember clearly that, after moving from the House of Monsters Micromansarda to where I lived before where I will live until the end of this month, I took my mother and told her clear that for the next move would have paid someone to do it for me.
Last week, while the third stretch out the hand of acid green on the walls of my new-old kitchen, his face dotted with specks of paint, I remembered the incident and she, smiling with a cup you looking to work in hand, he replied: "But go and we'll do, right?"
Sure sure. Meanwhile, she drinks tea.
I knew I had to pay a stranger, someone who knows absolutely nothing about me except that I need to maximize space and inventory of objects.
Someone who enters stealthily into my apartment while they are elsewhere, and prepare the boxes of what I can bring my new-old house, and throw for more than that there is someone who has no heart and no See for yourself the favor of keeping dried flowers of the summer wedding of my stepbrother (half-brother is a really bad word), because so much is in England, if not s'offende disintegration, someone who does not let soften in a cup, crushed held together by glue, unusable except as yet another pen, someone who is tougher than me and does not take too and lisa stralis tshirt that I bought in second only because higher it is attached.
Someone who is not me, that is.
But no, the workforce optimization drink while you and I see endless transhipment cargo of boxes containing anything useful, but everything that has a vague sentimental value - all quell'oggettistica that "we do not know ever, could serve one day "and that, although every time I moved into smaller spaces, reappears in all its confusion and can be summed to that in the meantime I bought because I could not find what I was looking for, lost in meandering mess.
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