Stuff it

I write about "stuff" a lot. I think that perhaps it is because we have so much of it. Stuff here, stuff there, stuff everywhere. I feel overwhelmed by it. I feel consumed by it. I am tired of dusting it. I am tired of rearranging it. I am tired of stuffing it.

And sometimes I daydream about burning it all in a pile in the backyard, leaving us with the clothes on our back (let's hope we choose wisely and don't wind up wearing that Hootie and the Blowfish concert shirt for eternity), four cats and our car keys (lest we need a mode of transportation so we can go get some replacement stuff.)

The other version of the daydream I have is a clear desktop, enough room to hang my clothes, an organized pantry and maybe, just maybe, if I dare to dream: no plastic totes under our bed.

I do what most of you do whenever the stuff starts creeping into my mental space: I begin to purge. And this makes things better for a while. I mean, one closet is clean and orderly and not spitting out towels and lotions at me as I pass by. But then I spy the baskets and bins in the kitchen and realize that the phenomenon of stuff has simply just spread some place else.

And then there's the other method: hiding stuff. Whether it be a basement (as in our case), or the bedroom that you must clear out anytime you have an actual guest. . . wanting to use the guest room! Or perhaps you have a closet. And if you do, bless you and may you share the wealth.

We have two tiny, tiny closets which must hold all of our clothes, all of our bags and anything else we don't want in public view. Obviously this isn't enough, so we have supplemented with dressers, dressers everywhere! To further my point, these drawers are "stuffed" with more stuff.

And it seems that our stuff multiplies in the night. I take boxes upon boxes to local charities only to realize I haven't managed to free up any space. Where does this stuff come from?

Simply writing this post makes me want to find the lighter fluid and matches. . . if only I could find it amongst all of my stuff.