Material Girl?

In the process of packing, I have once again come to an uncomfortable conclusion:

I have way too much crap.

Now, I could rationalize it by saying that I am the one bringing a bedroom set, the majority of the kitchen stuff, and the majority of the entertainment system, which of course means that I have a lot of stuff.

But let's face it, I don't need 16 kinds of bowls and 3 teapots.

I could also attempt to excuse myself from the situation with the concept that a lot of this stuff is childhood/college/art projects/whatever, and that they aren't living at my parent's house because my parents live 800 miles away. And that I'm saving my parents some space in their basement. And saving them work when they someday move.

But let's face it, am I ever going to actually display the giant painted ostrich egg from some high school project that I don't even remember the purpose of? (I do remember the class, teacher, and how much goofing off we all did in that class, though.) And what the heck am I actually going to do with all of my notes and papers from college?

Then there's the excuse that I buy things in bulk and on sale, because it's better to have 6 boxes of pasta when they're on sale than buy them one at a time at full price.

But let's face it, that's such a Midwestern mentality: stock up and wait the bad times out. And I a) no longer live in the Midwest and b) have a pretty solid knowledge that my job isn't going anywhere (though I did move departments, but they can't run the Bass Media program without me).

Oh wait! I have all of these collectibles and vintage things and antiques! And I have family heirlooms! And stuff from those years that my grandparents lived in Africa/Turkey/Europe! And it must be kept safe and cherished and maybe some of it is special enough to be displayed!

But let's face it, that's just a socially acceptable form of hoarding.

And don't get me started on the sheer number of books that I have...

I don't know how to deal with the art and the artifacts and the antiques and the pasta and the books and the 16 bowls and 3 teapots at this time. Actually, thinking about reducing my number of possessions is sort of scary. We're programmed to show our worth and personality through the amount and type of stuff that we have. I'm an educated, cultured, 20-something female with many talents, my stuff says. I can put together a kick-ass entertainment system just as easily as I can do some crazy 16th note runs in Bach, but don't forget that I'm a cook and a book worm, too. I can build a Hackintosh and I can sew buttons back on shirts. (I...am...Renaissance Woman!)

So let's face what I can deal with. After the dust settles from the move, I am going to digitize all of the college notes. Scan it in, label it, file it, recycle the paper. That should get rid of some of the stuff I have, without getting rid of the thoughts and ideas and millions of hours I spent agonizing over the lives of dead people in 17th century Italy. Maybe I'll convince Le Boyfriend to do the same, and we'll both get rid of some dead weight.