Okay, I tried to work on the stuff yesterday. And I succeeded, to a certain extent. I went out to my hallway and picked up all the cardboard boxes I would have thrown away a long time ago had I not felt guilty about recycling them. See, it's not a concern for the environment that moves me toward recycling--it's guilt. But, you know, guilt pretty much drives every other action of mine, so there's no reason to be surprised that guilt drives this one.
Anyway, I gathered up all the cartons and boxes (are they the same thing?) and took a box cutter and went to work. Got them all cut up and packed in a bigger box to put in the recycling bin tomorrow.
So that was good.
But it was just a small strand on the full head of hair which is my stuff. And it took me an hour or so. And then I had to go to my directing job.
So today, I went at the stuff again, and the stuff just laughed at me. It didn't smile. It didn't smirk. It laughed. Out loud.
"Who the hell do you think YOU are to try to get rid of us?" the stuff said. "We are your STUFF, and we do not go down without a fight! Har Har Har!" (That's how stuff laughs. Har Har Har. I have no idea why.)
So what I ended up doing this morning was what I always do when I feel the need to get rid of stuff but when the stuff laughs at me.
I moved the stuff from one part of my apartment to the other, thereby clearing stuff from a portion of the apartment, allowing me to fool myself into thinking I have actually done something about the stuff.
But I have not.
Because there it was, on the other side of the apartment. Laughing.
And it took me two hours to realize it.
So, there is a certain amount of guilt removed by the work done.
But the problem remains.
And the stuff laughs.
Har. Har. Har.