I have too much stuff. Everybody I know has too much stuff. I've been filling up the trash can every Thursday (pickup is on Friday, so that's when I know how much space is left for assorted junk)and filling bags of potentially usable stuff for Goodwill. Like those little woven-wood baskets that mate and reproduce themselves when your back is turned, and the fancy electronic toy Steve bought me three years ago that I never actually learned how to use, and the perfectly good warm-weather clothes that I haven't worn once during the last two hot seasons so obviously there's something about them that doesn't work for me.
Okay, Goodwill probably doesn't need the little baskets any more than I do, but let's pretend, shall we? There are about half a dozen of them still in my workroom, some holding a collection of stuff related to an ongoing project, but most serving as catch-alls for the stuff I find when picking up the workroom that I want to keep but don't, right now, want to figure out where it goes.
Unfortunately I never wake up in the morning thinking, "Oh, what a perfect day to sort through every box on the workroom shelves to figure out where this lampworked bead and that cabochon belong!" So the Baskets Full of Miscellaneous continue to overflow. My only hope is that by giving away all the empty baskets I can force myself to clear the other ones because I no longer have any convenient place to throw all the small stuff that I don't know where to put it.
Anyway. So this morning I loaded up the car trunk with sacks of stuff we don't really need and drove to the nearest Goodwill donation site and emptied the trunk. Then I went to Walmart and bought a bunch of stuff we do, arguably, need...and now the trunk is full of those sacks.
I could probably make a case for this morning's activity. But the Disinterested Alien Observer who sits in the back of my mind thinks that this particular organic form's primary purpose is to move sacks of stuff from one location to another. And maybe it's right.