A couple of nights ago Geoff and I had a fight. Well, not a fight really, more like me unloading my pent up emotions on him and hurting his feelings, after which he was understandably angry. (I suck.) We don’t fight or argue much (besides little nitpicky stuff) so it felt big. But all is well now. I have apologized (approximately 20 times SO FAR) and we have a plan to deal with what the fight was really about, namely, stuff.

One of the hardest parts about being married is dealing with another person’s stuff. My own stuff is one thing, but moving around piles of another person’s stuff is another. In our case, this is exasperated by having 5 cats which are constantly underfoot, and when I’m cleaning I can’t help but consider the cats as stuff too- after all, I wouldn’t have so many cats if it weren’t for him, right?

That isn’t fair, though. Pye and Corwin were around before the relationship. Belle and Wicket were a result of visiting the pet store at a vulnerable moment- they were too cute to pass up (the local cat shelter adopts out pets through PetSmart.) I have a soft spot for kittens, yes I do. The fifth cat, Zipper, was a result of a friend who said he would adopt a stray hanging around our house and then backed out- so after getting Zipper all his shots and getting him fixed in preparation, we didn’t want to just let him loose outside again. Attempts to find him a home all failed. So it’s not really Geoff’s fault anymore than mine.

Anyway, stuff. (I would be remiss if I didn’t mention George Carlin’s routine on stuff, go watch it.)

The problem here is I’m trying to pare down on things. I’ve lived longer in this house than I have ever lived in one house- coming up on 5 years. This house is great for stuff accumulation. Lots of closets, an attic with hidden storage space, an extra row of cupboards in the kitchen. We really don’t have to think about dealing with stuff, we could just throw it all in t \he attic and forget it’s there. Except I know. And it bugs me. I feel the stuff chaining me to this house, this town. That’s not to say I WANT to leave- I have not decided that yet. But if I did, I know I’d have to deal with the stuff. It sits there and taunts me.

So after I finished school last Friday, I immediately began culling through stuff. Went through our junk drawers, started going room by room and throwing things out. A lot of the junk was mine, and that I had no qualms about throwing out. A lot of it, though, is Geoff’s. I continued organizing and cleaning over the weekend- all day Saturday, Sunday and Monday evening, and by Tuesday, I was filled with a rage about the mass of stuff. In four days I’d been able to throw away some things, and fill two smallish boxes with things to give to goodwill, but I’d mostly just been moving things around. In one of my less coherent moments, I unloaded on Geoff about his propensity to collect things with no discernible value. My mom and dad have this same conversation. I imagine millions of married couples all over the world do it.

I still feel silly and more than a little stupid. I mean, it’s just stuff. Why couldn’t I talk about it in a calm, adult like manner? I fail miserably at being an adult sometimes.