I am trying to get a grip on my things as I organise my packing.
I look around and suddenly the thought strikes me. I am a collector.
A rabid collector. There is nothing I don’t collect.
Bills. Statements. Books. Cassettes. Restaurant order slips. Doctor’s prescriptions. Ball point pens. Brochures and those little flyers about savings accounts, insurance, credit points (which I never use). Packets. Boxes. Newspapers. Magazines. Shoes (falling apart). Notebooks. Lipsticks. Shampoo bottles. Memos. Bits and pieces of paper from god knows when. Bus/train/airplane tickets. Photocopies of certificates (not in singles, but multiples). Letters. Notes. Water bottles. And all from years and years ago. Stuff that I have absolutely no use for today.
Why do I do it? I have no idea. I keep thinking I might need that particular bill/note/object someday in the future. As if!
I find it difficult to throw away stuff. I’m turning into my father, I think. Dad loves to collect newspapers. He has newspapers, probably from the year I was born. (And that my dear folks, was a very long time ago). Probably before that too. He has noble intentions organising newspapers cuttings and arranging them in a scrapbook (or something). But it’s never happened. So over the years (and years) he’s been collecting and collecting. And now, back home, we have these giant piles of newspaper everywhere you lay your eyes on.
Hubby on the other hand has totally another reason he never finds anything. He’s totally opposite of me – he doesn’t hang onto anything. Not even important phone numbers! I doubt he even has any of his certificates!
Mine however, is organised clutter, if there is any such thing. All my paper stuff is filed (under categories). I have files for everything. I might take some time finding something, but I do eventually find it!
But that’s no excuse really. I have to get back and throw away some of the junk that I’ve gathered over the years.
God almighty, where did all this stuff come from?!