Everywhere I look I see shit. Shitloads of shit. Only 4 weeks left before we move to our new place. Slightly bigger than our little house in Amsterdam, but no place to store things and less wall space to arrange our furniture. So I guess we’re screwed, because there’s no way in hell it will all fit.
Maybe for the better, because maaaaaaaan we (I) own a lot of stuff covered in dust. And I never missed any of it. It makes me a little sick to see this material overkill. Even sicker thinking of me buying all of it in the past, thinking I really need it and quite happy with myself knowing I can buy everything I want.
On my first date with B, he said he doesn’t need stuff. He could live with two boxes, one to sit on and one to eat of. I stared at him and laughed, like a mean making fun of him laugh. And I still do, less loud though, because I won’t pretend to throw everything out and live the minimalistic life. That would be hypocrite, because I know I can’t. B thinks 50 moving boxes are too many. I know it isn’t.
What I can do is try and organize it all and, throw away broken things, give away the good things, keep the must haves and the fun things and buy a little less in the future. Saying to myself enough is enough and meeting B (a little less than) halfway up his two boxes.
I think this could be my new nature this year.