All this stuff! Why can't I get rid of it?
I'm trying to clean out a room that is stuffed with all kinds of "junk" that I have saved over the years. I can hardly walk in there anymore! It should be easy. Why would I need all this crap?!
There are things that are clearly junk (that I might have a use for some day).
Bits of things that needed to be repaired (where is the rest of it?).
Books. I can't get rid of books. I love books. Some I have read, so, I have to keep these as a record of this accomplishment. Some I'm going to read, can't get rid of those. Some are reference, I might have to look something up. Some are just fun to look through. Some day I'll have time for that.
There are my craft materials. I spent a lot of money on these things and I use them. There is no where else to put them. And there are my art materials. Yes, I'm going to get back to doing art someday.
There are items and books I used to use for teaching. I might need those again.
There is all the stuff I am currently "working" on. There is no other place to put this work in progress. If it was put away out of site then the work and the progress would certainly come to a hault. As if it hasn't already.
There is a ridiculous number of cloth bags, backpacks, messenger bags, etc. I always seem to have a need for one of them. There never seems to be enough. I have actually given some away.
There is the stuff collected from places I've been or just left from years ago. These, it turns out, are time travel devices!
All those bits of memorabilia, souvenirs from places I've been, are a connection to a time gone by. There are pins from places like the National Aquarium and the Science Museum in Toronto. Fossils picked up on field trips with friends from school. Models, some finished, some not, remind me of days when I would work on these things. There seemed to be more time then. It's funny how time compresses with age.
Model train cars. Wooden ones. My father built these for me when I was 2 or 3. I can remember him working on them in the library at my grandmothers house where we lived at the time.
And it goes on and on. I can transport myself to other times and places with these simple things. Am I a hoarder? To some it looks that way. To me - I just don't have a big enough place!
Oh. there is something I can get rid of! What is that? Oh, I remember that. That reminds me of when. . .
I'm trying to clean out a room that is stuffed with all kinds of "junk" that I have saved over the years. I can hardly walk in there anymore! It should be easy. Why would I need all this crap?!
There are things that are clearly junk (that I might have a use for some day).
Bits of things that needed to be repaired (where is the rest of it?).
Books. I can't get rid of books. I love books. Some I have read, so, I have to keep these as a record of this accomplishment. Some I'm going to read, can't get rid of those. Some are reference, I might have to look something up. Some are just fun to look through. Some day I'll have time for that.
There are my craft materials. I spent a lot of money on these things and I use them. There is no where else to put them. And there are my art materials. Yes, I'm going to get back to doing art someday.
There are items and books I used to use for teaching. I might need those again.
There is all the stuff I am currently "working" on. There is no other place to put this work in progress. If it was put away out of site then the work and the progress would certainly come to a hault. As if it hasn't already.
There is a ridiculous number of cloth bags, backpacks, messenger bags, etc. I always seem to have a need for one of them. There never seems to be enough. I have actually given some away.
There is the stuff collected from places I've been or just left from years ago. These, it turns out, are time travel devices!
All those bits of memorabilia, souvenirs from places I've been, are a connection to a time gone by. There are pins from places like the National Aquarium and the Science Museum in Toronto. Fossils picked up on field trips with friends from school. Models, some finished, some not, remind me of days when I would work on these things. There seemed to be more time then. It's funny how time compresses with age.
Model train cars. Wooden ones. My father built these for me when I was 2 or 3. I can remember him working on them in the library at my grandmothers house where we lived at the time.
And it goes on and on. I can transport myself to other times and places with these simple things. Am I a hoarder? To some it looks that way. To me - I just don't have a big enough place!
Oh. there is something I can get rid of! What is that? Oh, I remember that. That reminds me of when. . .
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