“The movers are coming, the movers are coming,” I keep egging myself on as I scan my home and my office for things to chuck away. Things to exorcise. My covetous eye keeps hunting about with such venomous zeal that I cannot suppress an occasional giggle. Ha, no way to hide! Everything I own is now in doubt. Everything is in peril. The moment something strikes me as useless, or not useful enough, it is history. And I never look back. I never reconsider my loot before I cast it away for good. My eye just keeps hunting: “The movers are coming, the movers are coming.”