**GARAGE SALE 10/01/22 8:12PM EDT** Moving and everything must go!

Inventory:

• A well-worn drill -- one that you will feel burning hot against your flesh, scalding your tiny little inquisitive hands, only to be told to ‘toughen up,’ to ‘get over it,’ and that it’s your fault for getting hurt. It will never feel like your fault, but some part of you deep down will be convinced—it will sting perpetually.

• A set of small golf clubs -- ones that you will buy only to please your dad; you will soon grow tired of the prestigious, pompous dress code—or perhaps, you will have always disliked it.

• An unpowered label maker -- you and your parents will find great satisfaction in labeling various objects. However, this will not last—you will eventually grow tired of all these neat boxes and organized containers, and, sooner or later, may even begin to despise them altogether. Your parents will not feel the same.

• An old, used cat bed -- it will slowly fill with shed hairs, covering the once-white fluff in layers of gray and black. Your cat will spend ever-increasing amounts of his time there, until, finally, when you and your family leave for your uncle's memorial (he will have passed recently, struck by an unexpected heart attack), your cat will snuggle in one last time, never to leave again.

• A wooden, foot-long bear sculpture-- you will place it outside your house, a vigilant sentry. It will stand watch one dark evening as your grandmother trips and falls headfirst to the ground, leaving her sobs of panic and pain to echo throughout the night. In shock, she will gargle through her broken, bloody mouth, telling you that she’s fine; you shouldn’t call 911. The bear’s dead eyes will look on as you stand there, frozen, watching your grandpa frantically collect white, bloodstained pebbles, thinking they are teeth.

• Various pairs of beige dress pants -- you will never like wearing those stifling, restrictive, itchy clothes. One day, you will grow to hate them more—you’ll be interrupted amidst a heart-wrenching conversation about the bleak hopelessness of life to be pressured by your mother to dress up in these horrid trousers for your grandpa’s funeral (he will have died a long, drawn-out death).

• A shiny copper planter -- one that will soon fill with the corpses of withered plants, left dead from your depression-fueled apathy.

• Two laser hair removal devices -- you will try to keep up with using these, but you won’t be able to. The searing, eye-watering pain will make it far too difficult. You will collapse into sobs each time, cursing the world for making you choose one torture over another.

• Several unworn dresses -- they will hang in your closet, forever taunting you of what could have been, and what could be if you only had the courage. Every day, you will give them a glance, but eventually direct your glance downward.

• An old cd player with disks included -- you will use this to play relaxing music to fall asleep to. When you grow older, you will think back upon these songs and occasionally give them a listen, sobbing as you’re reminded of when things were simpler. When you didn’t need to think about who you really were.

• A full-length wall mirror -- it will reside in your room, looming before your blanket-swaddled figure. You will spend seemingly eternal nights conscious of the figure on the wall, ensuring that you never sit in view of him. It will be easier this way.