A junkie in the truest sense.


I have a passion for things that are both funky and useless. These include the wonderful lanyards, homies, and smooth glass pieces from the beach which are currently nestled in a box I’ve just packed. Also in the box are a rubber ducky and her three children, a bag of marbles TMD once bought me, about six travelcard wallets, and an assortment of crap.

Many of the things I own are intrinsically cool, the sort of thing I want to surround myself with in my new writer’s room in the new house (the room formerly known as ‘therapy room’ and futurely known as ‘baby’s room’). The problem is that I have too many.

The McDonald’s toy chicken nugget dressed as a dinosaur is one of the only givens I know I will have proudly on display, and possibly my Rubik’s cube. You know, because every time I see it I pick it up, twirl it around, and joyfully proclaim that I’m going to start playing with it. Any. Day. Now.

The problem isn’t only acquiring these things (from fast foot restaurant floors – I shit you not, my sister, TMD, friends, holidays, stores, freebies in various places), no. The true problem is that I can’t throw anything away. I imbue everything with a supernatural amount of sentimentality. That being said, I have gotten rid of astronomical amounts of books, clothes, shoes, video tapes, music tapes, workplace binders, etc. But there seems to be an infinite amount of ‘stuff’, and the things I have the most trouble getting rid of are those that have no use.

Right now I’m sitting here with a promotional ribbon lanyard hung around my neck, nothing dangling from the end.

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