Junking It

It's a case of junk itch. Untreatable with fungus ointments. For reasons unclear, I've been back at the thrift stores speed-trolling for treasures. I purposely visit when there's a time crunch so as to limit myself. I'd abandoned this pursuit some time ago while trying to purge my life of years of excess crap, but as many of you know, this isn't something that just goes away. The stores have been inexplicably crowded, too... maybe people are cruising for post-Christmas cast-offs.. so it's a bit of a turn-off. It's a bummer to see Volvos in the Goodwill parking lot. Even the As-Is section of Sally Ann was bustling and we were dodging each other left and right through the urine-scented air.
Most of my loot has been books ripe for the chopping block... now if I could figure out what to do with them. Years of Catholic schooling has paralyzed me to the idea of cutting, ripping, writing in or in any way disfiguring a (cue the organ music...) BOOK. Well, I do it all now anyway, but only once I've got a clear plan, which is an awfully constrained way to approach "creativity." I managed to get through all of college never once marking or highlighting a textbook. Then grad school.... with minimal underlining and lightly penciled margin notes. Call me wild.
If this thrifting continues, I may end up with platform boots, several fish bowls and some Herb Alpert LPs (and nothing to play them on).
(Siamese Birds courtesy of SonToo)