It's Just Stuff

Lately, I've been trying to declutter stuff.  I got rid of a garbage bag's worth of clothes, a wall-thingiemajig that was in my under the bed box and not on my wall, and some other stuff.

There are some things I'll probably never get rid of that belong in the stuffed variety.  They stay in the bag with my spare bedding stays.  A pig pillow "Piggy" that was a Christmas gift when I first moved to Mississippi, the Diabetic Dog (D.D.) that my cousin gave me.  My cousin's diabetic and the dog stayed with her in the hospital.  (On second thought, maybe she just didn't know what to get me that year...) And a koala bear* that I have baby pictures with.

My other important momento that isn't stuffed is this pink and white plastic rocking chair my nanny** gave me as a baby.  Again, I have baby pictures with this thing.

So, those things I probably won't get rid of.  Seeing as how I don't have (or want) kids and I only have godsons myself, I don't know when I'll give those to another girl, unless I miraculously get a goddaughter.

And Piggy scares the boys...  :-/

But other stuff?  Wall hangings?  Gone.  My frogs playing poker and one of them's cheating?  Gone.  My first dragon figurine with a broken wing, two broken legs and just plain old?  I finally threw it away.  Poor thing.

My Crusader that everyone asked if he was my Knight-in-Shining-Armor? (Which, by the way, is not as funny as it sounds.)

Well, I gave him and a stuffed-dragon to Vin.

Some stuff is just stuff.  It's taking up unnecessary room.  I need that room for books, you know.  Which, I'm going to go through those too.

That will be a little more difficult, but maybe not as difficult as getting rid of my koala.

*I didn't have a teddy bear until after I moved to MS.  Before then, I just had my koala.  The first five years of life are supposed to be the most crucial.  Having a koala bear may have contributed to my weirdness.  Think about it.  Normalcy in children revolves around having a teddy bear, I'm sure.

**Not nanny like Fran Fine.  Where we're from in LA, nannies are like godmothers.  A paran is the masculine equivalent (don't pronounce the 'n' in paran).