I abhor stuff. I always have. Maybe it's because my parents hoarded stuff--old academic journals, textbooks, software, gadgets, newspapers, everything. But I've moved 10 times in the past 11 years and I know that I'm happier without too much stuff. Now I'm moving AGAIN, and in with a boyfriend, no less (first time for that, mind you), and I'm having a little panic session because I'm realizing that there is, actually, stuff that I love. Most of my stuff can go. Most of it is a hindrance. But what about the stuff I love? Will there be room? If there's not room, what will I do with it? Here's the crux of my issue--I don't want stuff to represent who I am. But the stuff that I make and the stuff that I've gotten overseas and on bizarre excursions and from family and such, that stuff keeps growing as I get older and I don't want to give it all up. But I know that giving up your stuff is part of life, part of being free, and I respect that. So I'm just having a bad night. I'm thinking about stuff, and what it means to me. And I know that, in the morning, I'll be able to toss another item and just be okay with it. But for tonight, I'm going to sit here with my glass of wine and think about the transience that is my life.