I have said before that I enjoy buying craft materials.  More than using them, it would seem, since I have enough to stock a smallish Michael’s. 

You want some colored sand?  I got it.  Bought the multi-color pack when I was making buttons for that straw-colored cotton cardigan I knit, oh let’s see, it was in ’95, I believe.  Made the buttons (want some?), saved the sand for another grand project. 

How about a bunch of bottles of all shapes and sizes that I am saving/collecting/buying to paint.  (Some fool might suggest the sand go in the bottles, but that is only for those who also enjoy crocheted poodle toilet paper covers–if you get my meaning.)

I do, should you inquire, have the requisite paint for these bottles.  In fact, I have a large plastic box (wait, I’m going to measure it now) that is 16″x24″ and is full of paint.  All manner of paint.  All colors of paint.  If I didn’t think it would mark me as sick beyond belief, I would tell you that this paint is separated by type, each of which has its own little plastic shoebox home. 

A couple of weeks ago I did a home visit and brought some materials to do a project with my clients.  The tubes of paint were gorgeous, strong, sparkley primary colors–and dessicated.  When the client squeezed a tube, the contents shattered.

The thing is, I have had this collecting habit for many many years.  In fact, there is a box of Dr. Martin’s colored inks that I used in a set design class I took the last summer I was at Pitt.  And we know how long ago that was! 

Okay, those have sentimental value.  But, people, shouldn’t I be throwing the rest of the stuff out?  It’s hanging ’round my necks worse than any smelly bird could be.  And it stops me from actually working on projects, because I’ve got this must-finish-before-you-start-another mentality.  Which considering the fact that I have ADHD pretty much insures a constantly rising guilt level.

I have an urge to just pitch all this stuff.  But then some practical side overtakes me and I think that throwing away good stuff when people are needy is wrong.  So it becomes a moral issue, and I get a headache and…and…and…