Packrat
Since the semester is over, I've finally had time to start cleaning up my disaster of a messy room. Still have a long way to go before it's presentable, but I've made progress.
Jordan thinks I'm crazy for all the sentimental junk I keep. I am a huge packrat, I know. But I really can't feel bad about that.
When I pick up some old object -- a plastic manatee, a broken necklace, a stuffed chipmunk -- I vividly recall some memory associated with it that hasn't even vaguely crossed my mind in years. If I didn't have all these silly little reminders, I might never think of it again. I think I've led quite a life for still being so young.
I don't evaluate the worth of the item so much when choosing to discard it or not, but the worth of its memories. Is that so strange? Why do I seem to have more of this junk and hold it more preciously than anyone else I can think of?
Jordan thinks I'm crazy for all the sentimental junk I keep. I am a huge packrat, I know. But I really can't feel bad about that.
When I pick up some old object -- a plastic manatee, a broken necklace, a stuffed chipmunk -- I vividly recall some memory associated with it that hasn't even vaguely crossed my mind in years. If I didn't have all these silly little reminders, I might never think of it again. I think I've led quite a life for still being so young.
I don't evaluate the worth of the item so much when choosing to discard it or not, but the worth of its memories. Is that so strange? Why do I seem to have more of this junk and hold it more preciously than anyone else I can think of?