Pardon the blog silence, but we've just survived an apartment move.
There’s nothing like moving that can make you feel instantaneously at war with your prized and superfluous personal belongings---your "stuff." There are times even, in the midst of exhaustion after hauling boxes hither and yon, that it becomes your "crap."
Thankfully this move allowed us to purge quite a bit of it via donations, but Dr. D and I have agreed to go on a stuff-buying diet regardless. I've also vowed to myself that I'm only allowed to buy a new item if I'm willing to donate one of my other possessions. I don't want to end up like the creepy garbage lady from the Labyrinth.
I guess we don't even really have that much stuff compared to other people our age, since we own virtually no furniture (a perk of my profession, which provides us with free furnished living). But something about having to schlep all of our combined stuff without a moving company really it put it into perspective: no one should own this many band t-shirts.
You'll all be happy to know that we managed to remember to pack J-dog, although I think there were times when he was truly concerned he may not make the cut.