Selling Cleaning storage up a bit.

[BakaRina]

Since I need to make more room for stuff, I’m getting rid of stuff I don’t think I’m going to use.

For the special price of 2 TBT per item, you can have it.

Crescent-moon chair - 10
Nova light - 20

 

[Firesquids]

Hello again, I'm interested in the wooden bookshelves! I'll take all 11 if I can please!

 

[BakaRina]

Hello again, I'm interested in the wooden bookshelves! I'll take all 11 if I can please!

Alright. Send me a dodo code.

 

[BakaRina]

“I mean, by such flightiness, something that feels unsatisfied at the center of my life — that makes me shaky, fickle, inquisitive, and hungry. I could call it a longing for home and not be far wrong. Or I could call it a longing for whatever supersedes, if it cannot pass through, understanding. Other words that come to mind: faith, grace, rest. In my outward appearance and life habits I hardly change — there’s never been a day that my friends haven’t been able to say, and at a distance, “There’s Oliver, still standing around in the weeds. There she is, still scribbling in her notebook.” But, at the center: I am shaking; I am flashing like tinsel. Restless. I read about ideas. Yet I let them remain ideas. I read about the poet who threw his books away, the better to come to a spiritual completion. Yet I keep my books. I flutter; I am attentive, maybe I even rise a little, balancing; then I fall back.” “What does it mean, say the words, that the earth is so beautiful? And what shall I do about it? What is the gift that I should bring to the world? What is the life that I should live?”

 

[BakaRina]

“I mean, by such flightiness, something that feels unsatisfied at the center of my life — that makes me shaky, fickle, inquisitive, and hungry. I could call it a longing for home and not be far wrong. Or I could call it a longing for whatever supersedes, if it cannot pass through, understanding. Other words that come to mind: faith, grace, rest. In my outward appearance and life habits I hardly change — there’s never been a day that my friends haven’t been able to say, and at a distance, “There’s Oliver, still standing around in the weeds. There she is, still scribbling in her notebook.” But, at the center: I am shaking; I am flashing like tinsel. Restless. I read about ideas. Yet I let them remain ideas. I read about the poet who threw his books away, the better to come to a spiritual completion. Yet I keep my books. I flutter; I am attentive, maybe I even rise a little, balancing; then I fall back.” “That’s the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. “Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?”

 

[BakaRina]

If I get no offers by the end of the day, I’ll be tossing them out.