o.o.s.o.o.m.

Question of the hour, dear reader is this: How have I accumulated so much damn stuff??

I’ll tell you how:

I’m terrible at getting rid of things (it’s partly New England blood that runs through these veins of mine, after all). Add to that my terrible case of Out of Sight, Out of Mind: if something is tucked away in a drawer, or hiding in the back of the closet, years will go by and I’ll have forgotten it’s even there. And then since I don’t realize I have it, I’ll go and buy another of that thing, and….. you get the idea.

Unfortunately, I live in what amounts to a cubbyhole with The Boyfriend, who is also a bit of a pack rat (no New England blood for him to blame, I’m afraid), and it’s gotten a bit cramped up in here, as the kids say. (Actually, are they? Or is that not a thing anymore? I can never keep up)

Occasionally, The Boyfriend will shake his head in bewilderment, and think out loud about how we need to get rid of stuff, and I’ll nod and mutter something about how we really need to get on that, but neither of us actually follows through.  Why is that?

Is it some existential crisis, where we’re compelled to bog ourselves down with crap we don’t need to keep, said crap representing things that we can’t or won’t get over? Or maybe it’s the fact that we have a tendency to attach memories to things, or a place in time to these objects. Perhaps to throw away that object would then be to say that that memory, or that place in time no longer matters. Maybe.

Or, maybe I just need to get over myself, get my butt in gear,  and sell and donate the stuff that I have no need for. That’s an idea.

I really need to get on that.

 

 

 

 

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