I'm planning to move soon and have come to the sudden--though not shocking--realization that I have too much stuff. I can't even give you all of the particular details or breakdowns of the stuff I have too much of, because my too-much-stuff-edness applies to just about every category of items people can own and it would take too long to write down, let alone read. But I do. I have waaaay too much stuff. And if I were to take a guess, I bet you have too much stuff too.
We all do. For some reason, Americans can't resist bringing stuff home and filling their homes with it until they have to invest several days or weeks riffling through it all to make space...for more stuff. For example, I have too many socks. Socks that I wear and socks that I don't. Apparently I treat them like collectors items. I even have too many loner socks--you know, the socks that lost their match because dryers presumably feed on them. For some reason, I save the loner socks up, hoping that one day the missing matches will be coughed up by the machines that devour them. And it never happens.
I have too many books. I have too many DVDS. I realize that I own both only so that I can loan them out to other people. Because when you think about it, how often do you reread the same book or watch a movie for the third or fourth time? Very rarely. Yet there they all are, lined up neatly on my bookcase collecting dust, just waiting for me to pack too many of them in a box and blow out my vertebrae while moving them. I suspect that some books may indeed may be made of iron.
I have too many forks and spoons. For some reason, I figured that having 20 of each makes complete sense, just in case I were to host the entire starting lineup of the Chicago Bears someday. And you know what ends up happening as a result of having too many utensils? Dishes. Because there's never a need to wash a fork when there's always a shiny clean one sitting there in the drawer beckoning me to succumb to my laziness. I swear my utensils use some sort of Jedi mind trick on me that forces me to avoid washing them until they are all completely dirty.
I have too many pens. When you think about it, it's so hard to throw away a pen. It seems wasteful. But yet I always seem to come home with them somehow. I forget them in my pockets or get caught without a pen at a time when needed and have to buy some. (This usually happens when I procrastinate buying a birthday gift until the day of the party and am forced to fill out the card in my car in the driveway of the birthday celebrater.) So on my desk sits enough pens to rewrite the entire bible by hand 47 times over.
I'm not sure why we all have this need to let stuff pile up and take over all of our space. I guess its the same reason why we can't pass by a free sample at a grocery store or why so many of us act like insane rioters whenever there's the potential to catch a free t-shirt that we'll never wear. Perhaps none of us likes to go home empty handed.
Time to go. I've got stuff to do, mostly involving undoing all of my stuff.