exhaust pipe lament

As the season of giving which inherently requires first acquiring usually accomplished with cash or credit at distributing establishments within your traveling distance known to some as Christmas shopping, I'm attempting to redistribute items with little value, to thrift stores, recycling centers and the waste transfer station. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of things, books, clothes, candle holders, broken appliances and electrical devices. Much of it not things I chose to be here but now must take the responsibility, if throwing it out can be considered responsible, the kind of responsible a healthy parent wants for a healthy child to develop, not the kind when the authority decides who's responsible and must pay. But I will have to pay at the transfer station, but it's a small personal monetary price to have a feeling of relief from the clutter in my space. Typing this feels like the most productive thing I've done all day. I move stuff around and sit around and make some choices I may not stick with. The world may not bet better, but I can. Time to clean out the flu, shovel the firebox, and burn a cleaner fire. Let this be the start that never ends. I am the man I want to be. ?";' (those last four symbols were typed by the cat.