I'm not invited to Utopia. But whatever.

So the other day in Dr.Hamlin's class we were reading Utopia, and one of the main things about Utopia is that there's no private property (or so they claim). Also, gold and silver are worthless to them; they use these metals to make their chamberpots. And because this semester I've developed the unfortunate habit of saying things in the least sophisticated way possible, I said something along the lines of "PSH! What about the cat-like people who like shiny things? All I'm saying is, I would totally be hiding bedpans in the folds of my laborer's cloak."

And then Dr. Hamlin told me I wasn't invited to Utopia, because I would be "a troublemaker".

Ok, he has a point.

I know it's not particularly flattering to admit this, but I like stuff. I always have. When I was younger, I went through a phase where basically everything I owned was grouped into one collection or another. I had knickknacks all over the place. I won't even talk about how traumatic it was to clean/dust my room. The weird thing about all this is that I don't feel like a materialist. But then, when Dr. Hamlin suggested I give up all my stuff and move to Utopia, I couldn't decide whether to laugh in his face or curl up in the fetal position in the back of the classroom. So, would Paris Hilton and I actually be best friends? Maybe I should stop judging her.

Or, maybe I should explain myself a little better. I can in fact survive without all my stuff. I'm a mover (conditioned from an early age). I've said before that right now the idea of more than a couple of years in one place makes feel panicky. The panic is almost like when you see something in a store, decide you don't want it, put it back down and then FREAK OUT when someone else picks it up because you feel you've been foolish and now have maybe missed your chance. I hate it when that happens, so my general rule of thumb is to try to avoid missing chances (this of course bearing in mind that we're always missing chances, because when we decide to do one thing we also necessarily decide not to do many, many, other things). It's difficult, though, to at the same time need to amass stuff and move every couple of years. Compromises have to be made.

Normally, when I decide to peace out of America and live elsewhere, I'll only take what I can fit in the two suitcases the airlines allow. Technically speaking, those suitcases are usually filled with about three articles of clothing and then selected items from the Aladdin's Cave I call my bedroom. But still, two suitcases is pretty good for a pack-rat like me. Especially now that the baggage allowance is 50 lbs per case instead of 70.

Why do I need all this crap? Because that's what it is, for the most part. It's not like I wander around buying designer kitsch. I'm talking about cheap coffee cups, art prints, POSTCARDS (anyone who's seen my office can confirm that) buddhas, costume jewelry, and even a box full of sand. I take these things with me so I can remember where I've been. I should also admit that my attachment to stuff is weird, because I actually like people the best. I'm obsessed with people, but the bummer of it is that they don't take too kindly to it when I try to stuff them in my suitcase. So I have to come up with packable placeholders, because I can't bear the thought of forgetting anyone. I need my collection of crap, because it tells my story for me (even when I forget some of the lines).