Within the realm of Domestic
Well after a day of less than flipping cold weather and being up late putting around the inside mumbling walls, walls, the walls are getting closer the urge to type some genuine words of wisdom has struck. This happens on occasion, tis the way it is. So the day was spent loading the truck with treasures that were deemed of questionable purpose, to which many a tear were shed over each and every lovely, dealing with the constant Might need that, temptation that so percolates the mind of the packrat, the keeper of bits and pieces of anothers unwanted, or rather just plain junk collector, made for a long and emotional day. Having succumbed to that temptation so many times in the past, having answered its call with almost a giddiness like response to its beckoning, the treasures for so long thought of as valuable are now set upon their way to the dump
The truck is full and yet barely a dent can be seen from where it all began. Odd, peculiar, or perhaps bizarre in how the reactions of habit, the answering of some compulsive behavior, switches one from master of their surroundings to the servant of the imamate. How many times has that broken power drill been moved, re-boxed and required yet more storage space to be acquire, just to maintain the thought that someday I might need that switch or cord or perhaps I can in an act of brilliance far beyond my nature, create some wonderful gizmo worthy of a Nobel Prize from those cool gears. Ah self delusion, what an odd human vice it is.
Even though I understand my own and a few others of human reaction to surroundings, it still amuses me how people react to the common measure of change. I like my surroundings, don't move a thing, the sky may fall if it's out of place. Know anyone like that?
Having read a bit of Plato, Kafka, and a bunch of histories of leaders, Jefferson was a thief, Churchill, well mommys boy (no wars please, just my opinion from reading 8-900 pages of his life), The R&F of the Roman Empire, The R&F of the Third Reich all seemed to have as an obstacle a resistance to change. So here I sit talking to the little bird at my shoulder, rather telling the sucker that the stuff goes to the dump and that's that. Don't like it I'll stuff ya, put a tad of lemon and garlic on ya, pop you at 350 for an hour served over a bed of wild rice. That conversation is over.
Spring time is coming to those in the northern part of the globe, time for all to get out and chuck the stuff. If it's been in a box for more than 6 months just put it in the truck and toss it. Do not, I repeat Do Not look in the box or OOH Shinny Thing's will take over what we so proudly refer to as the rational, the responsible, the mind at the top of the food chain. So, yes once again, the human nature to submit ones dominance to the things that call our imagination take control. We are truly lost within our inability to say No! to our self.
Really strange to it, I am a materialistic sentimental idiot, some would arguer the materialistic and sentimental but for sure that guy who stares at me from behind the mirror is somewhat short of a full tank, is some 20 years ago I got divorced, took the whole house to the dumps, even stepped out of my old clothes, put on new ones and never gave it a second thought. If she wants it she can go get it, after 2 years of battle got custody of my children, (the big What do I do now hit like a brick, worth it tho) I was a little put out at her behavior one day when I came home, seemed like the right thing to do in response, raised catholic prevented me from grabbing the AR-15 and toasting them both. After the fun and games of that adventure moved from CA to here (WA) and everything I owned fit in the back of a pickup. I cannot count how many truck loads of precious stuff I have hauled to the dump over the years. It all comes back, nature abhors a vacuum as it is said, I thing she hate a clean workbench, sure had mine targeted for the clutter that appears overnight from some strange place of improbably origin. Each and every truck full that departs from my little treasure trove (shades of Sanford & Son) to it final destination of some great hole in the ground, regardless of the personal pain involved in the pushing aside my pieces of eight for empty space just reaffirms that I am the master of my domain, I am Lord and King over all I observe. Just so long as none of it happens to be the Brides Stuff. . . No Dear I didn't put any of your lovelys in the truck. Why I even put that broken flower pot, vase thingy you won at the dime booth from the fair last March back on the window sill so you can admire it. Dead droopy flowers and all.
