Updated: Jul 9
Sometimes I think it would be easier if the house burned down rather than constantly think about what to do with all the things I've collected during my lifetime. Everything would be gone in one fell swoop with no more albatrosses hanging around my neck. Gracious fate. Take the insurance money and run. Buy a new guitar, a new laptop, a new phone, and maybe a nice camper van, and then hit the road.
Ahh, but each time I pick something up with the intention of dumping it, I start reminiscing about where it came from, how much I enjoy holding and feeling it, and what life would be like without it, and then I put it back and tell myself I'll deal with it later. The reality is that more than likely someone else will have to deal with it once I've taken the big bite.
Do I really need those thousand plus knives in my collection, or the dozens of musical instruments stuck in various places, or multiple boxes full of tools, or an entire trunk full of vintage magazines and newspapers, or shelves full of worthless knicknacks, or guns that I've never even fired? I tell myself that I just like lookin' at that shit and the truth is, I do. So I guess I'll just keep tripping over stuff until I can no longer get up and then they can haul me away with the rest of my junk and after awhile no one will care, least of all me.