It's real. It's out of control. It comes with age.
I wish I could say two things to the former me. The person who had a thousand really important materialistic priorities and an astonishing amount of discretionary income to indulge in them. The first thing I would like to say is, "Put it down. Whatever it is, it will mean nothing to you shortly. Walk away fast, speed walking can only help." The second, "Where are you getting all of this money, and will you share it with me?!"
I can still see my twelve year old self walking to the town Beauty Supply Shop with my best friend, Lisa, where we would buy every shade of nail polish they had. I had drawers of it. I had a near death experience when I was doing my nails in my room which my mother forbid me from doing. Then I spilled acetone all down the from of my tall white lacquered wooden dresser and as the nail polish remover made my paranoid mother completely justified, my heart sank.
At 15, my bag obsession started. All gifts and potential gifts coming my way were of a singular mind: PURSES! And I can justify something like nobody's business! How many times a month can you wear the same shirt? I can wear a purse 28 to 31 days a month, respectively. When friends would get a cute $20 bag, I was getting oversized diaper bag from Nordstrom and had no money left for all of the excessive clothing everyone else had. But, hey. I could carry the shit out of other people's tee shirts.
At 17, I fell in love with the DVD. And we all know how that turned out. A small home in a quaint beach side community later, I lived happily every after. Or, I bought a thousand DVD's, watched a third of them, and ran out of space to store or display anything else in my life.
I envy those around me who have a few cute picture frames, a table they love, and a closet full of clothes they could pile into two suitcases if need be. I have a house filled with stuff, and I can wake up one day, I have woken up many a day, thinking, "This means nothing to me." So, the new couches come tomorrow. And for the first time in what feels like a miniature eternity, I am excited about a decoration or addition coming in to my house. It is somehow comforting to know that life is maybe more cyclical that dead ended. And that maybe I'm still the same person I always was, just with more dust collectors and a lot less dollars.