Stuffed

Being new to the blog-sphere (that's a blog term, right?) I hadn't yet realized the convenience of just blogging for the sake of it until today. I've been kind of stressing myself out about it...feeling like I have to work something up in order to produce a post. I have now come to realize two things:

1. Very few, if any, people read this. Therefore, what I write is not really all that consequential. (Yup, I've seen the "nobody cares about your blog" t-shirt....it made me laugh.)
2. Even if eight thousand people read this...okay, let's be honest, eight thousand people will never be reading this.

That being said, I'm just going to wing this one.

(This is the legit beginning, by the way...ready? go.)

I am sitting on the floor in the hallway, in the middle of piles and piles of my stuff. I can't even see over all of it; my guitar and a box of fabrics are blocking my view of the window, a fact which is pretty disappointing because the trees seem particularly green today. More t-shirts that any one person should own are obstructing any hope of escape, and I will certainly die if a spontaneous fire erupts.

It could happen.

As I sit here, folding more t-shirts (where are they coming from???) and hyperventilating, I have to ask myself how this happened...How in the world did I get all of this stuff? And that which surrounds me is by no means the extent of all my crap, I have a basement, a room, and a shed full of my belongings still in Virginia. Beyond that, I have whatever may be in my bedroom, as well as everything scattered hither and yon throughout my parents' house.

Feel free to take a moment to appreciate the phrase, "hither and yon."

Back to the stuff. I have a Rotato. If you don't know what a Rotato is, Google it, then come back and agree with me that this is ridiculous. I am 21 years old, but the amount of stuff that I have is befitting someone at least 15 years my senior.

And, in case you don't know me, just know that I am not high maintenance or a hoarder. I am not the girl with eighteen thousand pairs of shoes. Neither am I the grandmother who lived through the Depression and therefore saves EVERYTHING (because you never know when you'll need it). I would pin myself as an average, middle-class American citizen when it comes to the amount of my belongings, neither excessive nor...the opposite of excessive.

About ten minutes ago, I wrapped up writing a letter to the little boy in Uganda that my family sponsors. On the guidelines for writing, the agency through which we sponsor Mumbere, Compassion International, they advise that you not go on about all your possessions, in order that you not intimidate or create a gap between yourself and your child. In the letter which Mumbere wrote to my family, he talked, in an adorably attached manner, about his favorite possession...the pet he has goat that provides his family with milk.

And here I am in my stuff.

And there you are in your stuff.

Anyone else thinking that we might have some stuff to think over?