Of Packrats and such.

Hey there. Woot! Hoorah for blogging. I'm not really sure of what this is all about, as this is my first post. It will most likely be awkward, like most posts from inexperienced bloggers, but we can deal, yes? I'm trying this out because Alyse tells me that blogging helps you clear your mind of all those crazy thoughts running around up there and relaxes you (or something along those lines). All well... her blog is amazing.

So this is some random thoughts the other day when I was in a writing mood at one in the morning... they make absolutely no sense, and are inspirationally unrewarding... but you know, if some frantic mormon housewife can write a novel about sorting socks, then I surely can write an entry about being a packrat.

I came to the conclusion a few days ago, that in my true nature, I am no packrat... The only reason my true state of "zen" has not been reached is because of my current housemates (aka: my mother and cole). You see, my parents are the main contributors to my ever growing collection of useless objects. And naturally, if you hand a human money, they become attached to it. Over the years, by spending so much on the random crap I have in my room, they’d hate to see it all go to waste (as in selling it). Thus they refuse to let me throw them away, which in some ways makes no sense at all, because sitting in my room gathering dust isn’t exactly an ideal use, if you know what I mean. So here I am, surrounded by things like 5 year old ’make your own lipgloss’ kits, clothes from Aeropostale (ugh), and ragged blankets (my nasty cat’s humping toy), that may have sentimental value to some people, but would be better off in the garbage.

With my brother though, it’s a whole different story. He is known (or should be known) as the king of all packrats and anything pertaining to them. If you were to walk in his room, you would instantly be aware of piles upon piles of dusty, useless objects. I’m sure that it would take days to sort through those piles, which is why no one has really ever attempted to conquer them. Occasionally there will be a broken chess piece, or a valentines day card back from 2nd grade that happened to tumble out into the middle of the floor. It really is fascinating to look through all the stuff my brother keeps in his collection. Somehow, for him, each of the items holds a memory, no matter how small. Maybe he’s afraid to lose those seemingly insignificant reminders of the past, so he can better remember when the future comes.

I can see why he’s such a packrat though. The feeling is truly magnificent when you stumble upon something you’ve nearly forgotten from your past. Over time, I suppose we all forget who we were, and focus on who we are, on who we wish to become. When uncovering a little piece of your past, you uncover a piece of yourself too. Maybe some packrattedness is good for all of us. If we can’t remember ourselves, then we have nothing.

Hmm… well that was it. It may not have been important, or full of intense emotions that bring tears to your eyes, but I can at least say I tried. Well I’m off to bed. Goodnight fellow readers. Sleep tight (whatever that means).