Today is the first day of February. One day before Groundhog day, two weeks before Valentine’s day, and three months after the dreadful Election day. So what do I celebrate today? It is the year anniversary of the day my apartment burned down.

Tony, whose only possessions include a stolen tux and half-empty bottle of Jack Danials, thinks that I am silly to recognize this as an important event in my life. “I value my portability,” he explained. “Get out of my face!” I retort.

I’ve spent the last 365 days re-building my life, mostly through the acquisition of new things: 1 car paid in full, 2 computers, 1 iPod, 100 albums, 4 ties, 1 bed, 1 TV/VCR combo, plates, coffee maker, yellow mug, bookshelves, shower curtain, digital camera, new books (some salvaged from fire that smell like smoke, some bought at bookstore and smell like capitalism), striped wool sweaters, and assorted IKEA furniture. I’ve also managed to move to a new city, embark upon new career path by attending master’s program in the acquisition of information, and adopt a new hairstyle. The faux-hawk.

I know, I know, it isn’t very zen to speak of materials items as life, but let’s face it–they are the modern beginning. When straight people get married they are awarded lots of presents, toasters, and towels to help them on their way. Losing two decades worth of items and memories changed me, so did the purchasing of new items. It was both dramatic end and frest start.

So I feel like today is an important milestone, a moment to evaluate a year in the life. A progression. Yes, I am, we are, bag ladies. And some day, all them bags gonna get in our way. We’re going to miss our bus. We can’t hurry up, we’ve got too much stuff. But Tony sleeps comfortably every night on my pillow-top, and drinks his whiskey in my cups and mugs. And how do we get to the dry-cleaner? We drive.