A month ago, we started shifting the contents of the rooms in our house around. If the things still laying on the floor are any indication, we have too much stuff. I would call it junk, but one man's trash is another man's (or woman's) treasure. And so, I shall just call it stuff.
I can understand the pack rat mentality, if that's what it is; I was raised on a healthy dose of Baden-Powell's "Be Prepared", and you never know when you might need some of that...stuff.
I am guilty of keeping things I never use and I admit it.
But it's amazing how much you can miss something that you don't even realise you're using. Like my voice, for example. While I'm busy fighting a cold, my voice has decided to go into hiding. Coward. And when my voice chooses to make an appearance, it sounds like a muted, monotone frog, which I would normally find pretty cool, but if I try to talk for too long, my throat starts to feel raw and I start hacking.
So, while the rest of the world rejoices at my inability to speak, I'll just sit here and contemplate all those things I take for granted.