zork

I'm becoming overwhelmed by stuff. I have too much stuff, and I don't know where it all came from. It's becoming a burden.

I admit I'm responsible for some of it. I convince myself that I really need that PCMCIA-to-USB bridge, that life will not be complete without the portable MP3 player, and that dignity demands a combination printer/scanner/photocopier. Books cause trouble. They cry out to me as I walk past the bookstore. I try to ignore them: block them out as if they were asking for spare change, just walk by with my eyes to the front. But after hours, when the employees have left, they sneak off the shelves and phone me, telling me how wretched their existence is at the bookstore, begging me to give them a home. I usually succumb. And the CD's I haven't bought yet? I won't even try to describe the shit they pull.

I'm convinced that there's more going on, though. There's more stuff here than that. I think stuff sneaks in when my back is turned, in little bands of 5 or 6. It arranges itself artfully in the corners, so I'll think it's been there all along. But I'm on to its ploys.

It's time to get ruthless. Time to pin stuff against the wall with a choke-hold, and demand answers. "How many times have I used you in the last year? Don't lie to me!" Time to close my ears to the pleading and the subtle manipulation. Time to make a clean sweep.

I'll be happier then. I'm certain of it. I can feel the burden lifting already.