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| Tuesday, May 31, 2005 12:49 PM |
| binge and purge |
| by poppy |
My relationship to material goods has become rather bulimic of late. On the one hand, I shop when I am stressed. (My consumptive behavior serves as barometer to my stress level. Lower level stress, I eat. Higher stress level, I shop. Highest stress, I stop eating and shopping. When I stop eating and shopping, you probably don't want to be around me.) On the other, I am becoming increasingly frustrated with the amount of stuff in our apartment. I feel overwhelmed by it, and not just because I've been putting it into neatly labeled boxes. I've been walking into rooms and getting hit with a feeling of oppression, akin to that I get when walking into a small, dark closet.
I hit my limit last night with my books. Feanor has a few books scattered about. He can lay claim to maybe, maybe 1/3 of the book collection. I have always had a thing for collecting books. I always went to library sales and discount stores and picked up things I did not need, nor did I ever (if I were to be completely honest) intend to read. Lately I have been scaling back, probably because I realise my library can get me anything my heart desires. I routinely take out 20+ books, and read maybe one or two before returning them. It satisfies my collection habit, while freeing me from dropping several hundred dollars a month on books. There are exceptions; human sexuality textbooks still don't stand a chance, even (perhaps especially not) if they're from the 50s. But my two shelves of mass market paperbacks of things I "should" read? Do I need this in my space? I'm starting to think, no, not really. The only big question is, what does a home without books look like? What do you do with book shelves if they are not housing books you never intend to read? |
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