Stuff & More Stuff
No wonder I’ve been gallivanting about, taking pictures of trees and waxing poetic. I’m avoiding something. Namely, spending too much time in my apartment.
My place is an absolute tip. I love British slang, in this case because it exactly describes the state of my home: it looks like someone tipped a dumpster in here. My desk is buried under stuff, I’ve treated the dining table as a horizontal filing area for a longer than I’m comfortable admitting, my old computer is standing in a corner, waiting to go to its new home (this weekend, yay!), a pile of summer clothes are airing out after 7 months in a box, the couch is half-buried under miscellaneous artifacts and there are about 47 magazines lying about in various stages of read-ness. If something horrible should happen to me and CSI: Toronto came in to investigate, they’d probably get lost in here.
I keep intending to Do Something about it all, have even devised a clever bit of subterfuge to slowly erode the dominion of the mess. My secret? Throw out one thing a day. That works really well, except for the days where I pick up the mail or bring home more than one thing or get busy and forget about the damn rule for a day or two (or 9) and before I know it, I’m back to living in a style best described as Early Landfill.
I’ve considered moving – it’s the only way I know of forcing myself to go through everything I own and be ruthless about it (not to mention get it done sometime in this millennium), but I really like my apartment and the neighbourhood is a dream. I’ve tried pretending to move, but seem to have trouble believing myself. Most days, I just marvel at how much crap you can cram into a one-bedroom apartment.
I’m a packrat who adores minimalism. A walking (so to speak) oxymoron.
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You know what you really need is a trip to Staples or Ikea to bring home more stuff to hold on to your stuff and for ideas of how to organize your stuff.
I am going through a similar crisis of stuff at the moment.
Yes, it’s true what they say about good intentions. Instead of cleaning out your closet on the weekend, we chose to go out and show the chair a good time….so, I am guilty as well.Next weekend, I will show you and your apartment no mercy. The dumpster has been rented and will be seated at the curb waiting for the stuff to be tossed out the window.After that, I am taking your wallet, cancelling 90% of your subscriptions, donating your not so favourite books to the library so you can enjoy your new roomier apartment. Maybe we’ll make Mojo a new friend out of the dust bunnies…
That’s it. It’s an epidemic.Don’t you think you would feel, like…free, if you could get rid of this stuff? I mean, I think I would, except for the part where I get rid of my stuff.
The one time we were burgled in the dead of night, the next morning’s policeman managed to say with a straight face “Was anything disturbed?” Given that I’d been up for an hour and hadn’t noticed anything …(rams)
My place is just the same – only it is a three bedroomed bungalow! the dining room table has disappeared under a pile of papers, the Sunlounge/one day it will be a home gym is still full of boxes of “stuff” and I have two kids who think that the bottom of the stairs into the loft are a dumping ground for everything that they can’t be bothered to carry upstairs. fiding the energy to clear it all up is beyond me at the moment, I am employing the ostrich method, mess? what mess?
I am a horizontal filer. And a packrate. And that is THAT.
Ahh, the IDEA of minimalism is so tempting, so cool, soo calm….On the other had that sense of calm is probably really just a state of exhaustion caused by the stress of getting rid of all the STUFF, all of which is MINE and therefore has some purpose for being here.We humans are such interestingly complex creatures.