When taco punches aren't good enough

Never mind the weird dietary additions to the grocery list. That pales in comparison to what I was faced with this morning.

After spending the last two years purging and editing and purging some more, I have very few possessions. Now, don't get me wrong. I like how simple and uncluttered my life is.

Sunshine, on the other hand, loves STUFFS and THINGS.

This morning, I decided I wanted my tan suede boots. So I went to the cubby where they were stored and had to fight my way past Sunshine's fucking I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-kind-of-giant-case to get to my shoes.

After all that purging I did to make room for all his important stuffs (that he never touches or wears), Sunshine has taken over one of the last remaining crannies where I had things stored.

Fuck you, asshole.

I seriously cannot take it anymore. When all of my possessions fit inside a fucking Honda (with space left over), there is not much left to eliminate. I have nothing left to give. It's your turn, asshole.

Think carefully. Figure out what's important to you. Me? Or your fucking stuffs.