I have always been interested in things.
What the heck? If I’m going to lay it all out there, why not just admit that I could probably call myself an organized hoarder.
I can watch the show on television about the hoarders and be horrified as the rescuers gingerly step across the pizza boxes covering the dog poo.
That horrifies me.
How can people get like that?
How can they live like that?
I don’t live like that.
It’s pretty darn gross to live like that.
But I might spend 20 minutes looking for the tool I need because it’s crammed in the little back room with all the other tools and “stuff” that I’ve carefully set back there….the stuff that, if the “jenga” pile is disturbed, falls over into an unmanageable pile.
We’re buying another place.
I’m going to walk the 7 acres this afternoon with the current owners.
I don’t think that I’m interested in it because I feel the need to expand…that my monkey grasp is keeping me from getting anywhere.
I don’t think that I’m looking for more space to spread my crap around…..
I need to edit…not accrue.
I look at other friend’s lives and think, “Man…they are really organized….how’d that happen? How’d they get so organized?”
That’s the way it always looks from the outside.
They probably trip over stuff they just set down, too….
But….I must want more.
I may not expand…but the pile of stuff sure can.
Tools …good clothing….bicycles…old cars….GUITARS…books…I want it all.
Every bit of it.
That’s sick to covet like that.
And there’s not a bit of it….not one square foot or yard or cubic mile that will make me whole.
None of this stuff that I have completes me.
Now, I do suppose that it’s a good distraction.
If I have another new guitar, somebody might be too busy looking at it to look beyond at me.
It’s all just another “Gods Must Be Crazy” coke bottle….just another thing to worry about or have somebody else covet….even if the need isn’t really there.
I guess I’m not really that greedy. I’m just hyping it up a little to have something to write about. The coffee is kicking in and I’m realizing that I’m going to be OK again…that another morning and another 500 words is going to happen.
I’ll be OK.
I’ll be OK…but knowing me, I’ll still want.
I will want…. and get.
I will get….because it’s a wonderful distraction to “get”.
It’s an activity….”getting”….that takes my mind off some of the things that might be more important to do.
It’s a distraction that keeps me going….vibrating in place until the sheen of the new is worn off and I go on the hunt again.
I’m not noble enough to say that I can do without things.
I am a curious monkey….whatever I can get my hands on is good enough for me…until something bright and shiny catches the light and I hop over to check it out, too.
There isn’t a thing in this world that lasts, though.
All these “distractions” return to earth eventually.
When am I going to fixate on what’s really important?
WHAT’S UP WITH ME?