Things I Shouldn’t Have Anymore

     I was putting the dishes away from the dishwasher this morning, waiting for my tea water to boil, and I considered the mug collection. While I pared down when we moved here almost 2 years ago, Husband and I still have too many mugs for two people, especially considering that there are about five we love, four we like, and a bunch that I can’t get rid of because of sentimental attachment.

     You read me. Sentimental attachment to a mug.

     There’s the local university mug because we’re fans and also I have a degree from there. The sunflower mug because I love sunflowers (but I never drink out of this mug!) The ultimately cheesy Precious Moments mug that is not only too small for a reasonable amount of tea but it has my name on it so who the hell will want it anyway? It was a birthday gift on my 16th birthday.

     Considering the mugs led me to think of all the other things around our home that don’t need to be here that somebody (well, ok, it’s either me or Husband because I don’t think the ferrets care) won’t let go of for some reason.

     I think I have an unreasonable attachment to these things. I know my friends in NYC don’t have this problem to this scale because they have wee apartments. My friend S lives in an impossibly adorable half of a carriage house that’s slightly larger than your average NYC apartment and I asked her once how she manages not to have all the stuff. She said clever storage helps and started pointing at furniture – there’s the bed and then there are 6 flat plastic bins slid underneath.

     I think my solution is culling. A massive thorough ruthless culling.

     My friend C’s mother-in-law is a Yard Saler of Professional Proportions. The MIL is currently getting divorced and needs to move to a smaller home with less room for her treasures so my friend C is helping sort – Keep, Trash, Storage, Yard Sale. C keeps coming home with “gifts” from the piles. It’s like a neverending game of Hot Potato – you get the stuff, you give the stuff away, the other person has the stuff.

     I think on some level the stuff is here to remind me that:

People love me enough to give me something they think I will like

I have friends

I had a good time somewhere

Someone else had a good time somewhere and wanted to share

I’m afraid I’ll need it sometime down the road (I think this translates into some kind of scarcity fear from when my ancestors had all the bones of the woolly mammoths lying around the cave and my great great great great grandmother said, “I can’t get rid of them…I might want to built a tent with them.” Or something.)  

      I just got up half an hour ago and now my head hurts from thinking of all the stuff.

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