I’m finding that my junk room is a little junkier, my drawers are a little hard to close, and so on. So, back into the fray.
I guess I hang onto things for so many reasons. They remind me of someone, a time, or a place. Maybe who I was at that time. I don’t really want to lose that, so I hang onto it. Then, when I go through things I think of all of those things.
It’s kind of a security thing too. Like I will always have all of these nice things tucked away, so that if I need them I will never be “without”.
I am shocked every time I start digging. All of this stuff! All of the “projects”, all of the memories! The cumulative amount of time and money spent on collection and then management. It’s a monument, in a way.
I said to my Mom once, wouldn’t it be interesting, if when you die, you got to go to a warehouse, where everything you ever owned was stored. Your clothes, your books, your toys, your cars, dishes, and so on. Wouldn’t that be something.
In some ways, my house feels like that. 14 hours ago