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G is for Garbage In-Garbage Out--Good Advice for Potential Hoarders

I do try to keep a relative handle on the homeostasis of my inventory and my home work and storage space. I keep things either selling or returning, and I'm trying to buy less actual inventory.

But I've lost interest in the back-breaking work that the eBay biz requires and I have hit a patch where I just can't deal with the even limited social interaction with buyers. I try to convince myself I'm buying salvage materials for my new up cycle projects, or that I won't be acquiring any new inventory when I'm up at my farm for the entire summer. All the same, I'm picking up definite vibes that this is an addict's justification and I'm starting to cross the line where the stuff is coming in faster than I can process and get it out again.

You actually can't call it "inventory" if it's not actually for sale. It is just "garbage."

Part of the hoarding disorder is the supreme discomfort that is caused by getting rid of items.

I do not have this yet.

But I can see what's potentially ahead for me--just by seeing what's going on in my mental state.

I feel like my brain is so full right now, anything new is just pinging off my face. My brain is this tangled, dark place full of so many things, that some of the stuff down at the bottom is starting to rot. It is garbage. But my brain won't get rid of it.

It keeps going over it and turning it over and over and just picking at it: dumb things I did in the fourth grade, phone numbers of my high school friends, a moment of cowardice the summer before I went to college, the guy that everyone told me was too handsome for me, the ideas I didn't follow through on.

It's all garbage. 

Apparently my brain thinks otherwise--like it'll come in handy for something someday, or it might come back in style again, or I might lose weight and be able to fit into it again.

That almost never works with clothes; it definitely doesn't work with thoughts. Actually useful memories: where you put your car keys, how to convert liters to gallons, what you were going to do when you went into the laundry room? Those are just so muddled up with all that other shit, you can't find them.

By the way--you probably put your keys on the dryer--underneath all the junk mail.    


  1. Mmmmmm, same here. The mental restlessness. You know I look to the stars, but I don't know enough to find the answers ...


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