So I am officially packing up. Ugh. Why do I collect things? I like things. I can live without lots of them. But once I acquire things I have a hard time getting rid of them. Even if I don't use them often. Or at all. I fear I have the makings of a potential hoarder. I disgust myself.
Dishes and books. These are the things I tend to collect more than other things. Dishes make me happy. I love cooking and serving and entertaining my friends. I believe even the best recipe can be made better by the pot it's served from and the plate its served on. So collecting pretty dishes makes me happy. Setting a beautiful table with pretty dishes brings me peace. Packing them up, getting rid of some does not make me happy. I'll be reunited with them again someday I know, but I can't imagine not setting a pretty table for a year or so. Sigh...
Books. How on earth did I accumulate so many books in so few years? When I moved from my rental I got rid of tons of books. Then in the three years I've been in the cottage I've replaced those and then some. Huge bookshelves on each floor of my tiny cottage to go through. Most I haven't even read. Or just read part of. I'm getting rid of tons. At least half. And still I have boxes and boxes I'm keeping. I don't understand this obsession. There's some link I think to me wanting to be a writer. The books I keep are fodder for what I want to be. Potential sources of inspiration. Idea mines. Though I know at some level I don't need them. Probably will only look at a handful out of the boxes and boxes I will keep.
This packing up and getting rid of things is hard. Not having fun here. Thanks for listening.
3 hours ago