Stuff

For most of my adult life all of my worldly possessions fit into two boxes and a suitcase. I amassed furniture and books and all of the usual detritus and then I'd move and sell most of it. I usually needed the money. I did hold onto one book. I always dreamed of doing pottery. I did take a class and now own two thick bottomed, badly glazed, small pots in which I stash pens and pencils. But I love the thinking in the book. The cover is now ragged.

I have three pair of scissors. Four if you count the Joyce Chen's. One I got when I was working at EA and needed a pair often enough to rationalize buying one. One Mom sent me in the endless supply of stuff she's getting rid of and one I got years ago to cut yarn.

I mean.

Why?

How did this happen?

It's sort of good to have a pair in the kitchen (other than the JC's since they are for food alone) and a pair at the desk. I guess.

I have lived in my apartment longer than I have lived anywhere, ever. I have many, many more books. More clothes. Furniture that I like. Kitchen stuff. Posters in frames. Little plastic animals that came out of bars in three different states.

I mean ...

The thing is I kind of like it. Not the three (four) pair of scissors exactly. It feels like I'm more rooted than I've ever been. It's not true because someday I will need to move to a place with no stairs.

Oh. Lord. How many boxes will I need?