So here I am again utilizing this unread blog to analyze my idiosyncrasies and avoid the cost of a therapist. In the interest of revamping and/or restarting my life (as I move on toward the ripe old age of 30...), I must take into account the state in which I live. At present, it represents my college years... a little on the messy side - unorganized, cluttered, haphazard. They say a place for everything, and everything in it's place... and frankly, that just ain't the case in my house. I hesitate to say home, as I know I will not be living at my current residence for all eternity. I don't even know if this is the state in which I will eventually settle. I don't know much of anything, really, but c'est la vie, right?

Anyway, I'm here to ruminate on the concept of clutter and why I allow it to both happen and persist. Really, it just seems to occur of its own accord, but I know for a plain and simple fact the reason: I have too much stuff with which I clutter my living space. Now why not just throw it all away? Well, I convince myself that whatever the object is that I am questioning the usefulness of will, while not presently useful, will one day be essential, so why not save future money and time and keep it around? That being said, there is not a sliver of guarantee that this will actually be the case, therefore making me cogitate on what else might keep the errant objects around.

Perhaps it is a clinging nostalgia? The item/article/object means something to me... something special... lub dub lub dub. Please... there ain't nothing special these days. But I keep holding on: to a T shirt (for which I paid too much), to a pair of shoes I might match with... something on down the line, or to that sheet of paper on which there is some information that I cannot readily recall but will be crucial at some point in the future. The future! says I! What the hell is wrong with me?! How can I be a fatalist if I am so worried about the future? I mean... that's a friggin' contradiction in itself! I shouldn't be worried about any of this crap... or is that a cure to my fatalism? Am I not a fatalist after all? Hmmm...

Well, that cannot be the case... seeing as how the opposite of a fatalist (I think) is an existentialist. Well, sort of, anyway... in that I want to rid myself of this wretched predeterminism that seems to keep me from doing life. Yes. Right? Sure.

Purge.... that's the answer. I need to buckle down and get rid of the shit that is causing me grief. Get rid of it. Don't throw away... there are other who could use it. Other people who actually need it. Shoes and clothing, especially! I must do this soon. I WILL do it soon. Today, tomorrow, and the next day. Prepare to purge. And then purge.

And enjoy the space in which you can - and will - live.