I have too much shit. It’s been 40 years of me gathering it and storing it. On my dad dying I inherited even more shit. Shit that’s even harder to part with. I like a bare environment. My living room sports two couches, a coffee table, a tv dresser with a tv and sound bar, a large closet, a dinner table, six chairs, a sideboard, two plants a lamp and a statue. That’s it. There are no more furnishings. No clutter, no fluff. Well, ok - the two sofa’s each have two pillows. I had to fight the wife to get it down to four total. Oh, and the house came with a wood burner, which I’ve placed a stand with a set of tools like thongs, a poker, brush and scoop next to. There’s also a single photo frame on the large closed with six photos too. We also have a decorative samovar on the wood burner. Still, when comparing to living rooms of people I know, mine- well ours is quite sparse. A better example; the bedroom. All it has is a bed, a dresser, two nightstands and a wooden ladder on which the wife hangs clothes in between clean and dirty (don’t ask, I have no clue). In the kitchen there’s a breadbox, salt, pepper, oil and a coffee maker on my counters. Oh, and a fruitbowl.

To me this seems sparse and clean and I wish this was all I kept. Now let us move to the in-house garage. This place is packed to the rafters with boxes. These boxes have been moved into this house two years ago. They have not been opened since. They store books, trinkets, crap and shit of mine, the wife, my dad and lord knows what. It’s a collection of stuff I can happily live without, apparently, as I have not missed or used a thing in them in two years. I should just put them all into a van without looking into them and drop them off at the dump. Just get rid of it and be done with it.

I can’t.

This collection may contain some unknown artifact, wondrous trinket or amazing tome too valuable, rare or important to discard. It may hold great monetary or emotional value. These white-yellow moving boxes simply cannot be tossed aside willy-nilly. One would have to open each and every one to discover the treasure within! They would have to pick through all the worthless gunk in order to unearth the gems underneath. One by one. Box by box.

I do not have the willpower to actually tackle this task. I don’t want to dig through all this shit and discard everything piece by piece. I don’t want to discover it’s pretty much all junk to be tossed. I especially don’t want to go through all the boxes I know have books in them. How does one throw away a book? How does one store all of them? Which book is worth saving, which is ripe for burning? About half of these boxes contain books as my dad had many. I cannot bin a book. Books are, well books. I should donate them instead. Then again, which ones? If I donate all of them, will I grow to regret it? Should I read them all first? Can I? I grow tired just thinking about this.

So they sit. Taking up space. Space I would like to use as a home gym, I mean I have the gear sitting next to them waiting for space to open up. This entire room can be used so much better, but isn’t. Let the fucking room flood, please. Let all the boxed be riddled with mildew and water damage. Hell, let it all be washed away in a biblical flood cleaning out the entire garage. Just the garage though. I am rather fond of the house.