Throwaway

I’m a bit of a packrat. I still have stuff hanging on my walls from high school, and I keep it around out of guilt (my motivation for all things in life). I don’t need it, and the sentimentality is gone, but still the shit stays. There eventually comes a time when I think logically, and say to myself, “Self, why the hell are you keeping that stupid ad you cut out of a magazine taped to the refrigerator? Sure, you were into all things Scottish at a point in time (10 years ago), but why keep that silly Dewars ad?” And then I trash it.

Inevitably, after it’s been thrown away, never again to be seen, I have pangs of guilt. WHY?! Why the guilt? So stupid. Ads don’t have feelings, and I don’t have a particular nostalgia for my teens. I just need a moment of cold, callous logic to actually pry the thing from the fridge, or the wall (Oh, the walls–I have far too many movie posters that don’t belong in my bedroom. I only ever saw Trainspotting once, dammit.),  because I know that I’ll end up regretting it at some point, and it’s better for it to be thrown away than stashed in a Doc Martens shoebox underneath my bed. Or on my walls or fridge, for that matter.

I should probably also take this time to note that I can scarcely throw a pen or pencil away without a brief yet intense moral dilemma about whether or not I should get rid of it. Will I use it? What if it’s disappointed in me? What if it never finds another home?

Meh, this is how it goes. Eventually I hope to be rid of my emotions entirely, especially when dealing with bric-a-brac. There’s no room for love in decorating.