I'm turning into an old woman, about forty years too early. One who everyone knows, whether it be a neighbor or their Grandmother, and ask her the question, "Why in God's name do you sill have this," or "What the hell is this for?" She stacks things on shelves and crams things in closets, and even pushes them under the bed. Her furniture tops are never clear and she begins storing things in places that aren't meant for storage, i.e. the laundry basket. Yes, I am on the fast track to annoying pack-rat. I tend to hang on to things that have no function in my life, things that are useless due to various reasons: they are falling apart, I have no room for them, I should have outgrown them...I cannot bring myself to do away with these things, however, because of some emotional attachment I have developed towards them. Telling myself that I will most likely have a use for them later on has worked quite often as well - that candle chandelier that was a gift would fit nicely in the center of the dining room table or in end table at the spacious apartment I will have someday. I have a Lava Lamp that has sat on the floor of my closet for at least three years, probably more like five or six, but it was the Lava Lamp I begged my parents for because "everybody" had one. Picture frames and key chains and candle holders...too many to put them all to use. Old magazines about fitness or travel will come in handy next time I need to tone the buttocks or want to escape for awhile.
I am a girl and with that declaration I think its safe to assume that I am emotional. Utterly, helplessly, and unreasonably emotional. Why or when certain emotions come forth, or attach themselves to people, places, and things is a mystery. Especially things; they're just things, but then I remember. There's the first Michael Jordan card I got that my Dad gave me when I was sick but still had the energy to jump up and down over. Now there are two shoes boxes full of most likely valuable basketball cards; I've never even come close to selling them. There's the Winnie-the-Pook figurine that adorned one of my birthday cakes and the stuffed animal I was given when I broke my wrist. I have a pile of stuffed animals which do nothing but collect dust. I will proudly proclaim that I do not sleep with any stuffed animals, though I have a few which are still displayed in my bedroom. I have a stereo - my first big purchase - which now only works when it wants to. Then there are the collections I was really into as a kid: stamps, coins, magnets. When I get married I am unsure how I will explain to my husband why we need to make room for the rock collection I had in the fourth grade.
I should get rid of clothes. Clothes that (A) I have nowhere to wear them to or (B) I have worn and washed to such a thin layer they will eventually have to be peeled off and buried respectfully or (C) no long fit me. I will fit into them again some day I tell myself, but in some cases, they never fit me in the first place. It was a hopeful buy - a motivation or an ends mean for all my hard work. I have the dress I wore at my eighth grade graduation, over ten years ago, and haven't worn since. "I don't remember ever seeing that shirt before," my Mother will say. Well, that's probably because you haven't, Mom. "Is it new?" Depends on what passes as new. What about that skirt you got awhile back? Well, what about it? You still have it? Yes, its being preserved, you know, for that possible wedding or funeral...or an appearance on a late night talk show. I just like believing I'm prepared for things. Even clothes have sentimental value to me - I bought them on a great vacation or trekked through Europe with them. These are the pants I was wearing when I saw the most spectacular view of my life; this is the t-shirt I wore when my college team won the national championship. I imagine trying to move and realizing how many trips I have to make for boxes or how much I will have to pay someone with muscles to make the trip for me. Worse, my kids will be complaining after I die about how long its taking to go through my stuff; the weekends they're having to set aside and the garage sales and trash pick-ups they're having to arrange. Who gets what...or who actually wants what?
Or maybe it will be genetic, and they'll be spared the trouble.
I am a girl and with that declaration I think its safe to assume that I am emotional. Utterly, helplessly, and unreasonably emotional. Why or when certain emotions come forth, or attach themselves to people, places, and things is a mystery. Especially things; they're just things, but then I remember. There's the first Michael Jordan card I got that my Dad gave me when I was sick but still had the energy to jump up and down over. Now there are two shoes boxes full of most likely valuable basketball cards; I've never even come close to selling them. There's the Winnie-the-Pook figurine that adorned one of my birthday cakes and the stuffed animal I was given when I broke my wrist. I have a pile of stuffed animals which do nothing but collect dust. I will proudly proclaim that I do not sleep with any stuffed animals, though I have a few which are still displayed in my bedroom. I have a stereo - my first big purchase - which now only works when it wants to. Then there are the collections I was really into as a kid: stamps, coins, magnets. When I get married I am unsure how I will explain to my husband why we need to make room for the rock collection I had in the fourth grade.
I should get rid of clothes. Clothes that (A) I have nowhere to wear them to or (B) I have worn and washed to such a thin layer they will eventually have to be peeled off and buried respectfully or (C) no long fit me. I will fit into them again some day I tell myself, but in some cases, they never fit me in the first place. It was a hopeful buy - a motivation or an ends mean for all my hard work. I have the dress I wore at my eighth grade graduation, over ten years ago, and haven't worn since. "I don't remember ever seeing that shirt before," my Mother will say. Well, that's probably because you haven't, Mom. "Is it new?" Depends on what passes as new. What about that skirt you got awhile back? Well, what about it? You still have it? Yes, its being preserved, you know, for that possible wedding or funeral...or an appearance on a late night talk show. I just like believing I'm prepared for things. Even clothes have sentimental value to me - I bought them on a great vacation or trekked through Europe with them. These are the pants I was wearing when I saw the most spectacular view of my life; this is the t-shirt I wore when my college team won the national championship. I imagine trying to move and realizing how many trips I have to make for boxes or how much I will have to pay someone with muscles to make the trip for me. Worse, my kids will be complaining after I die about how long its taking to go through my stuff; the weekends they're having to set aside and the garage sales and trash pick-ups they're having to arrange. Who gets what...or who actually wants what?
Or maybe it will be genetic, and they'll be spared the trouble.
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