I hate stuff

There, I said it. I'll say it again: I hate stuff. Not the generic "stuff" that can mean anything, I mean, "stuff," a large amount of crap that seems to accumulate over a lifetime. The collective belongings that come with you when you move, fill up your closets and overwhelm your life.

I hate it all.

In an ideal world, I would own 5 dresses and a pair of flip flops and be able to have an outfit for any and all occasions. I would also own a computer and a toothbrush and maybe that's it.

The thing about all of my belongings is that I love them. I know that makes no sense, but hear me out. I love having the option of choosing a completely different outfit every day. I love the tiny model QANTAS plane that my sorority little sister gave me, the massive photo album from my Israel trip in high school, and the battery operated card shuffler that I got for my 26th birthday and have yet to use but seriously, one day we're playing Blackjack at my house, people.

I love all of that and more. I just don't love the amount of space it takes up.

I moved home yesterday (wah) and for the first time in 9 years, everything I own is under one roof. As I unpacked and tried to merge the stuff I brought back with the stuff that was already at home, I was totally overrun with conflicting emotions. There was a mix of

"Oh my gosh, funky party tops I bought in Australia! I miss it!"

with

"Some things are worth the wait, others are worth the RUSH? We Tufts sorority girls were so clever with our rush t-shirts!"

with

"Hey, my old discman! I'm going to use this for....nothing."

with

"WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO PUT ALL OF THIS CRAP?"

And so on and so forth. Relative to other people my age, I think I have less stuff than most, mostly because I'm not the shoes/bags/jewelry fanatic that a lot of women are. Not only that, but I'm a compulsive thrower-outer which means that I regularly get fed up with things and chuck them even if a normal person wouldn't do so. Which leads me to wonder where all of you non thrower outers put everything.

The thing that really bothers me about is not so much that I don't have anywhere to put my belongings, because I have now resumed living in a 4 bedroom house and there is certainly plenty of space, technically. The fact that my stuff is not ORGANIZED is what makes me want to break out in hives.

I have a fear of overstuffed drawers and closets. Not being able to close drawers because there's too much shoved in there, or opening up a closet and not being able to grab one dress or sweater because you can't push the other dresses and sweaters aside gives me an irrational level of anxiety.

I also like all my things to be easily accessible and for me to know exactly where they are. If someone asked, "Arielle, where are your Pumas?" I would probably cry because there are a ton of boxes in the basement containing everything I didn't need for a summer in New York City and I wouldn't even know where to begin in trying to locate those damn shoes.

Furthermore, I don't like not being able to see everything. My bedroom closet at home is supremely narrow, but deep enough that there was, at some point in time, room to put a bunch of shelves and boxes and other nonsense on the floor. Now it's gotten to the point where I don't even know what all is in there and it's not really a task I feel like tackling so instead when I open my closet I just want to scream WHAT IS BEHIND ALL THOSE CLOTHES AND WHAT ARE IN THESE BOXES AND WHY CAN I NOT HAVE A HUGE CLOSET LIKE IN THE SEX AND THE CITY MOVIE WHERE I CAN JUST PUT EVERYTHING AND HAVE THERE BE SIX INCHES OF SPACE IN BETWEEN EVERY BOOK OR PAIR OF SHOES OR SWEATER OR RANDOM TCHOTCHKE FROM MY YOUTH?

My last apartment in Boston had TWO closets. I had a place to put all my shoes without stacking any of them, there was never a hanger with more than one article of clothing on it, and in general I was at peace with the state of my life. Eventually I will learn to live with the fact that I don't have a closet big enough to spread out my belongings in the organized, easily visible and accessible way I would like. And then the winter will come and I'll have to unpack all the aforementioned bags and boxes of summer-inappropriate stuff that are sitting in the basement from when I moved home from Boston, and the process will begin all over again.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.