and you may find yourself in a beautiful house

does it ever seem as if your place of residence has started to feel less like 'home' and more like 'home-base'? in the last month and a half, i have spent more than twice the number of hours in the office than i have spent at home. and considering that roughly 3/4 of those where i was actually physically present within the confines of my own four walls were spent in bed, i'm beginning to wonder why i bother to own things like a t.v.. or a mother. or several cats. (no, that's not true. the last ones serve as the most accurate alarm clock in existence. 5 a.m., rain or shine, it's tuna time!) on the other hand, my most prized posessions have somehow become my laptop, cell phone, car, and digital camera, not necessarily in that order. don't get me wrong, i'm not complaining! i'm loving every second of it - well, there was that one miserable one about two weeks ago - but i'm kind of starting to feel like i'm living out of my duffel bag again. and i have to wonder.

see, i love stuff. square-shaped, pear-shaped, purple or see-through, i just love stuff. i surround myself with it whenever i can: patently useful things where the purchases are easily justified which i never actually use for any real purpose. candles and books and bubble bath for those relaxing evenings winding down after work; shirts and shoes and 3 shades of foundation for those nights on the town. i have 7 pillows on my bed right now, and 4 blankets, nevermind that it was 90 degrees today. my 'lifesize' cardboard legolas cutout is resting on a pile of clothing, wearing my cowboy hat - and a sign that says 'hey baby - 'ow you doin'?'- but i digress. my point is that i have more stuff than i know what to do with. but if i've learned anything from the last few years of feeling restless, it's that there's nothing that can't be cured by the application of a good beer. well, that, and oh yeah, that i don't really NEED anything for my daily existence beyond what i can carry on my back. and yet, that free sample of perfume i got two months ago in the mail is still sitting under six unread magazines on my desk. go figure.

but why the dichotomy, i wonder? i like to think that i am one of the most low-maintenance human beings on the planet, physically. i really don't need much to make it through the day, as long as it starts with a cup of coffee and ends in a feather bed and a down comforter. although i suppose, if necessary, i could live out of a sleeping bag for more than a week without complaint if i set myself to the task. so why do i own so many... things? where does this pack-rat compulsion come from, this need to nest? i've proven to myself many times over that i can 'rough it' with the best of civilized society for at least a night (although i will be a crabby bitch in the morning) - and yet there is a closet in the basement full of boxes of my crap that i just can't bring myself to throw away. why is it that if i'm never around, i have to make sure that home has all the comforts thereof, even if i'm not there to use them?