Stuff and nonsense. Or just stuff

A couple of years ago there was a little bit of water damage to my bedroom and consequently it needed to be redecorated. Before that could happen, though, I had to move everything out of my room. "Everything" in this case consisted of that bulk of my worldly possessions, most of which I'd accrued in the preceding three or four years. Having moved it all I came to a very simple conclusion: I own too much.

The sheer volume of my earthly possessions came as quite a shock to me at the time. I came down to London with few belongings other than some clothes, a cd player and some cd's. And that was it. Everything else I accumulated in my time down here and there's simply too much of it. Whilst I still have an emotional attachment to a lot of it, a large part of me simply wants to be rid of it all. Perhaps it's another symptom of the trend my life is taking these days - my design tastes have definitely started skewing towards the minimalist and perhaps my new found asceticism stems from the same source. Whereever it comes from, I can't help but look at a lot my things and think what do I need it for? I own books, many of which I shall never reread. I own cd's and dvd's most of which I watch or listen to but rarely. I own... stuff.

Simply put I own too many things that I don't need.

But, on the other hand, I shouldn't over look that emotional attachment. Whether I need them or not these things do form a large part of my life. There are memories behind most of them, more often happier than not - reason enough not to dismiss them in so offhand a fashion. I think partly I'm concerned about (eventually) moving into my flat (it's compact and bijou, put it like that), which is silly, because I'll still have more room than I'll have ever had at any point in my life. And every once in a while I'll come across something I've tucked away in a corner somewhere, something that I haven't given any thought to in years, and smile. I think that's all it boils down to in the end.

The stuff stays.