I’d like to come out of the closet as a hoarder, but
unfortunately I can’t get into it to come out of it.
I consider my home to be like a library. You go looking for
something, you can’t find it, but you come out with something equally
interesting.
Every day is an adventure for a hoarder like me. Just the
other day I came across a copy of the New Musical Express from 1973. It had a
cartoon of the Lone Groover and his adventures in Far Out City. On the front
page was a picture of the Incredible String Band, so I looked for one of their
albums. I couldn’t find one, but I came across Little Jimmy Osmond’s Greatest
Hits. Oh, the memories came flooding back! What sunny days I enjoyed back then!
I love the past. For me, the present is a foreign country.
In any case hoarding is only like taking photos. People take
photos all the time these days, but nobody complains because it’s all digital
and somebody is making money out of it.
It’s the people who clear everything out who are sick, not
me. They live in an existentialist hell, no yesterday and no tomorrow, rootless
and valueless in a rootless and valueless world.
And, anyway, who cares if I can’t walk to the front door.
I’ve got quite handy at clambering over the boxes.
No comments:
Post a Comment