I have this Thing and this other Thing—Thing 1 and Thing 2. Thing 1 is absolutely necessary but Thing 2 merely costs lots of money.
What should I feel toward Thing 3? I’ve had it since I was 14; it was my grandfather’s but I never knew my grandfather and would gladly give up Thing 3 to speak with him for a few minutes. Thing 4 has passed from one office move to the other since my very first teaching job—that’s six moves—yet I’m unsure I’ve ever used Thing 4.
Fuck Thing 2; I don’t care how much it cost—to the garbage it goes.
All my Things are just Things. They don’t breathe or think but it seems I hope many of them will remind me of my own breathing and living. Thing 5 I got during our family trip to San Francisco; what a lousy reminder of that amazing trip.
Why so many goddamn Things? I can’t keep track of my Things. When I want to use Thing 6, it’s never around; instead I make do with Thing 23 but it’s not really my size. I start to fill suffocated by Things, things over here, in there, on the cabinet, in the garage—too too many Things!
But I do like Things; in fact I like my neighbors’ Things and Things in stores much more than my Things; unfortunately even when I adore a Thing someone else owns, its glimmer wanes as soon as it nestles amongst my Things.
I just got a new office and decided to fill it with a few Things as a commemoration of my window and my commitment to this office. I saw the Things colleagues had in their offices; many smart things. Andrea had pretty, rich matching Things but I’d never figure out such a complex layout of Things; another had intellectual old Things but he also has a degree from Yale. I want those Things, I said, so when I happened to be in Walmart (a very rare thing indeed) I decided to hunt for some Things. But before I made it through the front door I was tired and hot; I pushed on but once inside the King of Things, I was overwhelmed by Things. Why would people by such stupid freakin’ Things? I look at lamp Things but I think I want a lamp Thing from Ikea—not the king of Things but much better to say I bought an office Thing from Ikea than Walmart. But soon the new Things I buy will seem old a wary, Things I no longer want.
What is left when we have no Things? We are alone in a thing, yet alone without our things. Are we a thing or something more? I want Things to mean.
A Thing goes up, a Thing goes down. I pick a Thing up and save it; I throw another Thing away, yet that other Thing I caress and save never to revisit the Thing again. Things will haunt me till death and then my children will fight and scream over my Things. Sometimes I wish I owned no Things at all.
6 comments:
As a professional thing-consultant, I endorse the last statement of this post.
As you already know, I love things. Also, stuff. And Middlebrow gets around this conundrum by loving *gear*, not at all the same thing. Maybe you need more categories.
A most excellent post. I can imagine you in a Dr. Seuss cartoon running around Walmart and your neighborhood chanting about things.
I too am tired of things. I've been doing a massive cleaning out of my whole house for about 2 months now--selling furniture, giving away clothes, chucking the kitchen stuff I've never used and never will use. I am trying to de-clutter the things.
Really nice post here.
Something I always become aware of when I travel is how easy it is to do without--and how, back home, I don't own my things as much as they own me.
Looks like its time for a garage sale! I am going through all our things right now and purging. I think its more satisfying to get rid of a thing you don't want than acquiring a thing you desire.
You are so funny! This post is so fitting for what Rod and I have been doing. Ebay, craigslist, amazon-nothing is safe. And, at the same time, UPS/Fedex has been at our door step several times this week. I wonder what we're doing wrong?
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