Dreaming Out Loud

My mind went off on a tangent as it is wont to do.  I recently read an article on why we daydream, and whether it can be good for us. 

I was daydreaming myself earlier, and I thought about this article.  Mostly, what started me off was thinking what, exactly, was the difference between a "hoarder" and a "packrat."  In my head, there is a slight difference.  A "packrat" may hold on to "stuff" for too long, but can toss it out when necessary.  A "hoarder" is that crazy person you see on TV.

Anyway, I would say I have a borderline packrat personality.  For a person who can't stand paper or clutter, I tend to let a lot of it take up my life unnecessarily.  Then I thought of how I once read that someone who has a clutter issue also has a "procrastination" issue, and all clutter represents is a manifestation of procrastination.

Fascinating, really. 

I got to thinking this because I had been putting off a semi-quick project for a while.  When I first moved to the apartment I'm in now, I famously tried my hand at being handy by putting together an armoire.  I lost.  It looked okay for about four minutes before shit started falling apart.  It had two bottom drawers along with two doors.  I've hated it since day one.  For a long time, I was left to just one door and one drawer, but now they are both gone.  This was part of my procrastination problem.  This meant I had to empty out the drawer and put the remains in a plastic bin.  Who wants to do that when there's real stuff to blow off, like dusting? 

So my motivation is that I have a guest coming to town, and she's staying with me.  I'm also hosting a party in a few weeks.  As I told my husband, we should probably straighten up so my friend doesn't actually think we're used to living in a trailer park. 

So while our clothes are in the dryer as I write this, I start the transfer.  The irony is that it was relatively painless.  I even got rid of some stuff -- you know, like the single socks that I SWORE I'd find its partner at some point.  Some underwear and tops I no longer use.  Was that so hard?

So now I can toss the bottom drawer out (well, when my cat gets out of it anyway).  Then my mind started to wander, and I thought -- why did it take me so long?  And why did I live like that for such a long time?

Better yet, why am I holding onto a crappy armoire that is literally on its last legs (a door hanging on a thread that I ended up just screwing off the hinges after wondering why I hadn't done it yet)? 

The evolution of my thoughts went there.  See, when you're living in a city, you're expected to move around.  I think I've bear the average by staying here for over three years. 

I haven't replaced the armoire because I may move.  I keep telling myself till I get too lazy and just sign the lease to stay another year to avoid moving.  I hate the armoire a lot but I hate moving more.  I could replace it...but then when I do move, what if my replacement doesn't fit?  I mean, isn't this just a waste of time and money? (At least the armoire was a waste of my time putting it together.)

The quandary is circular.

But then, I started to think, well, why haven't I moved?  Besides the fact that I've moved six times in the past 13 years.  Not to mention all those years I was in college, moving back and forth twice a year.  There's also this thing called a lease.  It's good for a few months.

The next question is -- why haven't I bought a home?  Well, I'm a commitment phobe (just don't tell my husband).  I'm afraid when I commit to a home, something better will come along.

There.  I said it.

Then I tell myself, I'm also missing out on a place that could be better than where I live now.

But then I'd have to throw all the shit I've accumulated out before I do that.

See?

Then I just had this circular reasoning about this whole thing.  I don't want to move because I hate it.  I should buy but I rent, and that's what I do in New York.  I've told some friends that I see myself buying soon.  But I'd hate to move just move again.  But that's what I keep on doing.

Can you see why I even blow off dusting?

This is the trouble I get into for dreaming out loud.  See, Bono once sang, "You can dream/So dream out loud/And you can find/Your own way out." 

I suppose I'll find my own way out eventually.  But now, I've got just a shell of an armoire that I once was proud of building, but now eager to toss out with the rest of the clutter in my life and in my head.