My Garage

I believe in my garage. It has stood by me all these years. It could have sabotaged my storage efforts by creating mold. Yet I've mistreated it badly. I made ugly piles of mismatched stuff, barely leaving enough room for my car. I was smothering my garage with junk.
One word--declutter. Be merciless. Attack the flotsam and jetsom.
Let my garage breathe again!
Bags and bags of stuff given to Goodwill and Salvation Army. Clothing, housewares, electronics, knick knacks, books, boots, luggage, silverware, etc.
Now comes the hard part--my paintings. Hundreds of them, too many to keep. Which masterpieces do I sacrifice? How do I abandon part of my soul, my identity? Would Matisse just give away his output? Then again, he probably wouldn't have hoarded eight radios and an unpacked DVD player, 300 VHS tapes and miles of bubble wrap.
I must set you free, my loyal garage, no matter what the price.
Here's a copy of SI Swimsuit issue 1998. Make me an offer.