There’s a reason I don’t have more things: I think most objects are ugly
The process of moving flat has got me thinking in cumulative numbers. “12,045 days” I mutter to myself while lying on a mattress in a shop (the amount of time we spend in bed during our lives), or “£16,000” as I peruse the steam cleaners (the money I would save over my lifetime if I cut out the dry cleaners).
And now I have another: two (the amount of large laundry bags needed to contain every single thing I own).
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