Why I am a Hoarder (A Million Little Pieces of Crap)

The Native American, it was argued by a book I read, called Apache, had one distinct disadvantagein preserving its own interests. Its belief system. It presents a powerful case against superstition and religion.
Namely, that rocks, trees, rivers and everything have a spirit. That all outcomes are derived from devine will which is unquestionable. The book argued that if one were to go into battle and lose, it was simply not in ones medicine to win. This conflicts somewhat with what I understand of their superiority in developing horsemanship, but otherwise the book simply argued that what killed Native American culture more than anything else, was the near complete absense of the empirical system an ability to test theroes against outcomes based on observable evidence.
An ability to distinguish correlation from causation in other words.
But enough about them, what about me?
I believe subconsciously, that my things have feelings, that they are worthy of my care. I mean someone may agree with me that they would be hardpressed to rip the head of their beloved childhood toy Mr. Bunnykins just to prove that things don't have feelings.
But I feel incredible sadness and a sense of loss, of future potential when confronted with the decision to toss or keep any old piece of shit.
Packing up my room to move house is a very emotionally taxing process for me, particularly because my happiness tends to directly correlate to my sense of laziness.
But if I come across some card I picked up from some restaurant on some school trip 13 years ago where I bought a sandwhich that had a peice of bread that was brown and a piece of bread that was white and no choice either way, I find myself wanting to keep it, just in case I ever refer to it again.
I first became pragmatic about throwing shit out in year 12, where I was extremely honest with myself and admitted that I was never going to refer to the teachers photo copied handouts ever again. There is a tendancy in Year 12 to paranoidly hold on to everything in case it might appear on the exam. Better to throw everything out that isn't a past exam or private test paper, such as those produced by Neap.
Everything else, I just chucked it, often as soon as the class was out.
But that only extended to Teacher's emotional attachment in believing their handouts would be utilised by students, which I overrulled.
Come to anything personal, and I would hang on to it for dear life.
Clothing for example, by the time I moved out of brunswick I had about 7 pairs of shorts that I had stopped wearing because my house keys had chaffed their way through the pocket and my lose change could fall out.
But I couldn't bare the thought of them being orphans, left out in the cold, with nobody to care for them.
Eventually I chucked them.
Pete who now lives in my room's travel advice was 'pack light' and living out of a backpack is emotionally liberating I can tell you. Right now I am chucking out everything I don't need and/or haven't used on a basis so regular, I wish i could just wear a new McDonalds take away bag for underwear each day. Unfortunately the croth is not friendly and they don't have any bags that will sit on my hips.
I have learnt to pack my backpack first, and my larger hiking pack second. This is because if I end up throwing a heap of fucking leftover into my backpack, it will be heavy, whereas my hiking pack simply goes from station to station, room to room. I only heave it in 10-30 minute intervals.
But getting both as light as possible is the true aim, so when Japan hands me maps, brochures, glossy tickets, business cards, servietes, bag carrying bags, range catalogues, free foreign publication magazines, interesting souveniers and so forth. My immediate reaction is to toss it as soon as polite.
In nomadic life, which the American Indians and I do have in common, sometimes the best thing you can have, is not to have something.