Taming Materialism

From the doorway of a room inside my parents house, the eye doesn't know where to look first.

There's multiple duffel bags, the floor accommodating more of the contents than the actual bag itself.

There are colorful milk crates containing office supplies, which like almost everything else in the room I've rendered "temporarily useless."

There's an assortment of pillows in different shapes, sizes and colors, a green ceiling-high lamp, my rubber duck collection, a pink hair dryer, a stuffed elephant with a disproportionate physique named "BeeBee", the 9,000 Dean Koontz books that were discovered at a garage sale 2 years ago and I've since been meaning to work through and there's a litter box in there somewhere, no doubt filled with kitty excrement.

It's like a sacrilegious game of "I Spy."

Almost everything I own is somewhere in that mess. Each day since I've been back here I've been trying to sift through and make sense of it all, but I only have a few more days before my mother ( and myself, too) will completely lose her mind if the room isn't organized. We're also going to paint over the juvenile baby blue walls the weekend after next. (It was a good idea when I was 14... But, it just doesn't really work anymore.)

Unloading the things I don't need or use on a regular basis is going to be a huge project, but it needs to be done. We don't want to have to haul all of it to California. I really don't need all of this junk.

I'm going to be putting a lot of what I own on eBay over the next few weeks. If there's anything that you know of that I own that you would like to have, let me know ASAP.