So on Saturday afternoon my roomate and I did major chores. I agreed to throw away ONE of two of the comfy chairs that I stole from the smoking room in my college dorm and I've had them for around six years now. I felt so bad leaving her on the curb. How good she was to me! It makes me sick, throwing things away. I also threw out a pair of tennishoes that lost their cushioning and as I dumped old spaghetti on top of them in the garbage can I really wanted to cry. I loved those shoes so much. I can't even explain it. And now they'll spend eternity next to spaghetti and junk mail. It's wrong. They deserved better. So did my chair, which the neighborhood kids broke - they split the bamboo arm - within an hour of relocation. They abused it. Why? And that's only the first painful indignity my chair will suffer on her long journey to the junkyard and mass grave and eventual return to dust.
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