I’ve just realised, looking around my room, that I appear to be a hoarder for more than just crap. Seems I have a bit of a penchant for keeping hold of boxes. From where I am sitting – the perfectly-formed ass-groove of my settee, where I have been slumped for 98% of today’s waking hours – I can see seven empty boxes that are not used to store anything.
Yet I have no intention of throwing them out. I mean, what if I need to put the thing that belongs in the box back in the box? What if I suddenly decide Tiny Laptop needs to go back into its cardboard house? What if I want to sell something – it has more value with a box.
There’s a PS3 box in the cupboard, sat next to a Xbox 360 one. There’s the box for my nice headphones, empty. There’s the box for my old TV that I don’t even have anymore, which has reminded me there’s also the box for my TV I do still have.
So that’s eight I can see from where I’m sat.
Basically I think this is my descent into madness. It’s a physical metaphor for how my life feels like it should be organised – things should be categorised and put neatly in the correct boxes. But I don’t. I leave things strewn around my life and my head, and these compartments stay empty, unused and pointless. But I don’t want to give them up and throw them away, because that would give up the pretence that I want to make a change and I want something organised and considered in my life.
Actually, it’s not that at all. It’s the value thing. No, really. It is. I worked in CEX, so I have a habit of keeping hold of boxes as things are worth a bit more with them.
Just thought I’d throw a shitty little metaphor out there and pretend to overthink this nonsense.
Tomorrow is the last blog, possibly ever. See how I feel before I make a decision, but either way it’s going to be a doozy! It’s not. It’s not.