Anti-Consumerist Packrattery. Or: Too Much Stuff.

We moved our beds into our new apartment five weeks ago. That day was the mark, the date we titled “official,” as if all our possessions and thoughts and emotions had fully left Gettysburg and comfortably settled in Silver Spring.

We are anything but settled.

Our house in Gettysburg is still stretched at the seams, crammed with too many things, though we’ve spent the past five weeks sorting it into piles of to-take and to-share and to-donate. In a truly ironic evolution, my diligent commitment to avoiding consumerism has made a packrat out of me. I think it foolish and wasteful to get rid of the perfectly good jeans, size 6x, that Ben outgrew last year. Xander will be able to wear them…in four or five years. Thus, I have boxes and boxes and boxes of clothing and shoes for kids to grow into. I am holding onto Things now to avoid having to buy Things in the future, which has resulted in a huge accumulation of Things in an attempt to avoid being part of the demand for Things. I cannot help but to laugh.

And I am thankful for the laughter because if I don’t laugh, I fear that I will surely be swallowed up by these piles of boxes, forced to give into the simmer of anxiety in my chest brought on by the constant self-nagging to get sorted, get my shit together, get moved, and get settled.

Get settled.

Get settled.

Get my shit together and get settled.

While laughing. Or at the very least, smiling.



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