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Kick it to the curb
Clutter is the leading cause of distraction-which can lead to death, because when one fixates on random junk instead of walking, it's easy to trip down the stairs and die--among the housebound. And perhaps the bored writer, too. I don't know why this happened but the second I realized the sheer amount of crap in the apartment, I started attacking, pushing those tchotchkes towards the dumpster with no remorse. And I kept attacking, weeknight after weeknight. The blitz rolled into the weekend, and now Monday.
Feel like I've been at this for 10 days straight now, and a lot more extrication is still needed.
I am big believer in the notion of the more stuff you own, the more it owns you. Boy, do these articles of dis-use have my number.
Query: how exactly did I come to own a Butt Master?
How you ask? Too many late nights watching those infomercials? Loose change in your pocket dying to go for a spin around the mall? Perhaps you were transfixed for a moment by a vision of what your newly tight buns would do to the opposite sex?
My question is – when did a Butt Master become a tchotchke?
tchotch·ke Pronunciation Key – Show Spelled Pronunciation[chahch-kuh] Pronunciation Key – Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun Slang. an inexpensive souvenir, trinket, or ornament.
Souvenir? Nooo. Trinket? Hardly? Ornament? well, that would be one heck of a tree!
If I plant that tree in the dumpster will it grow into Suzanne Somers?
Actually the Butt Master is a legacy gift I planned to re-gift and in the meantime sentenced to the closet. It might be a great product, but the manual disappeared and I’m too scared to straddle it without a thorough review of the documentation.