Stuff
I have stuff, lots of stuff. I guess you do too. I'll give you a guided tour of mine. I'm beginning to feel a little oppressed, maybe you can see why.
I like books. I have a lot of them. There are certainly more than four hundred. I know this because I have Ikea bookshelves. They hold something like twenty books per shelf and I have twenty-two shelves. In fact I know it is more than four hundred because there are three or four stacks in other parts of the house. My guess is the actual count is north of six hundred. I've been giving them away. Do you want some? Please drop by. Please.
As it turns out I also like music. I am an anti-hipster so almost all of mine are digital. It is far too labor intensive for me to own vinyl. You have to clean them. Life is too short. I have no earthly idea how many CDs are there. Every time the thought crosses my mind to count them my mind lurches to some safer ground like the moral decay of American society. I do know they've overflowed the shelving set aside for their keep and are settling out in various boxes like a boisterous stream deposits the sand it carries.
For a being that reveres Thoreau's dictum regarding new clothes ("I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes."), I have a large, motley, assortment. There are three chest of drawers, all of which I approach with trepidation. Several of the drawers are only approached under extreme duress. There are three closets. I don't know what is in two of these.
The basement. I don't like to visit the basement. That's not exactly true. The section that contains this computer is ok. I've got an awesome Logitech THX 2.1. If I turn it up you can hear it in the most distant reaches of the house. The rest of the basement is accreting material like a lake accrets sediment. I fully expect to have the equivalent of sandstone any day now. I am certain, to borrow Rumsfeld's immortal phrase, to have unknown unknowns in the basement. Stuff that the existence of has passed from human memory. Do I have a 5/8ths socket? Maybe. I'm afraid to look. I don't want to go where it might be. Things go to die there. Like an elephant's graveyard, it is dangerous to trespass.
This is prologue to a desire. An expression of longing, of lingering despair. This is one of the central dichotomies of my mind. I would like there to be less. I like the books, but there are too many. I like the music, but it weighs on me.
There is a friend of mine. A gentleman I used to work with. He once described moving from Florida to Maryland. He got downsized and decided to move north. This has resonated with me for years. The reason is he decided to move with his car. One load. If it fit it moved. Everything else was left. This idea keeps banging around my skull. I am the dog wagged by this idea.
To change? What would it be like? What would it be like to not be afraid of the basement? Or to not have a basement? Maybe not accumulate so wantonly? Maybe not accumulate material that wants to become rock, become a mountain? What would it be like to hack away at my life. Lop off whole sections. Give them away. Let others carry these burdens. Would I feel lighter? Would the heaviness lift?
I like books. I have a lot of them. There are certainly more than four hundred. I know this because I have Ikea bookshelves. They hold something like twenty books per shelf and I have twenty-two shelves. In fact I know it is more than four hundred because there are three or four stacks in other parts of the house. My guess is the actual count is north of six hundred. I've been giving them away. Do you want some? Please drop by. Please.
As it turns out I also like music. I am an anti-hipster so almost all of mine are digital. It is far too labor intensive for me to own vinyl. You have to clean them. Life is too short. I have no earthly idea how many CDs are there. Every time the thought crosses my mind to count them my mind lurches to some safer ground like the moral decay of American society. I do know they've overflowed the shelving set aside for their keep and are settling out in various boxes like a boisterous stream deposits the sand it carries.
For a being that reveres Thoreau's dictum regarding new clothes ("I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes."), I have a large, motley, assortment. There are three chest of drawers, all of which I approach with trepidation. Several of the drawers are only approached under extreme duress. There are three closets. I don't know what is in two of these.
The basement. I don't like to visit the basement. That's not exactly true. The section that contains this computer is ok. I've got an awesome Logitech THX 2.1. If I turn it up you can hear it in the most distant reaches of the house. The rest of the basement is accreting material like a lake accrets sediment. I fully expect to have the equivalent of sandstone any day now. I am certain, to borrow Rumsfeld's immortal phrase, to have unknown unknowns in the basement. Stuff that the existence of has passed from human memory. Do I have a 5/8ths socket? Maybe. I'm afraid to look. I don't want to go where it might be. Things go to die there. Like an elephant's graveyard, it is dangerous to trespass.
This is prologue to a desire. An expression of longing, of lingering despair. This is one of the central dichotomies of my mind. I would like there to be less. I like the books, but there are too many. I like the music, but it weighs on me.
There is a friend of mine. A gentleman I used to work with. He once described moving from Florida to Maryland. He got downsized and decided to move north. This has resonated with me for years. The reason is he decided to move with his car. One load. If it fit it moved. Everything else was left. This idea keeps banging around my skull. I am the dog wagged by this idea.
To change? What would it be like? What would it be like to not be afraid of the basement? Or to not have a basement? Maybe not accumulate so wantonly? Maybe not accumulate material that wants to become rock, become a mountain? What would it be like to hack away at my life. Lop off whole sections. Give them away. Let others carry these burdens. Would I feel lighter? Would the heaviness lift?
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