For years I had lived in small apartments with a bunch of stuff and another person, and their stuff. Then I lived in a small house, with my stuff and her stuff and the kid's stuff. Then it was the same house with my stuff, and the kid's stuff and another person who came over having to live with all that stuff that was not her's.
So here I am now, in our new home, with double the space so no one is really on top of each other. There's still stuff, but it's not as visible. There's a room where the stuff is and you do not have to look at it if you do not want to. And again, this is all my stuff.
When I sit in the basement, which is about 40 feet long, I freak out that there is nothing piled up that I can see. Stuff is arranged, in its place and not giving off a cramped feeling. Everything is so...open, and that's been hard for me to deal with after living in such tight conditions for the past forever.
Our bedroom is on the third floor, the whole floor. My wife was drying her hair while sitting on the floor this morning.
"We should get a chair so you don't have to sit on the floor."
"Maybe"
It's a chair, a necessary chair that would not take up much space.
It would be more stuff, but also a piece of furniture that would be used.
Stuff is weird.
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