I’ve noticed recently that our lives just revolve around stuff. Like our houses are just big piles of stuff. Everything we do is measured in how well it helps us retain stuff, as well as gain more stuff. The main reason we take jobs is to get money to buy stuff. Our worth is completely based on the stuff we have, and our ability to get more.

Every part of our life is based on it. When we venture away from our big piles of stuff, i.e. our houses, we need to take stuff with us. Our pockets are thus filled with stuff, and our purses are too. And if we’re gone for too long, we’ve got to bring big suitcases filled with stuff. To keep us comfortable. It’s hard being away from all our stuff for so long.

Not to mention our obsession with quality of stuff. It’s not enough to have a lot of stuff. I mean a lot of stuff is always good. But a lot of quality stuff is better. That one person might have a lot of stuff, but it doesn’t really matter, cause my stuff is better stuff. Their stuff isn’t really stuff as much as crap. My stuff is real stuff. Real quality stuff worth living for.

Plus we’ve got our money. Stuff in itself, yet its real worth lies in its ability to let us gain lots more stuff. And good stuff. Not that all stuff isn’t good stuff. Because it kind of is. Especially if I buy it. But it’s always better to have more stuff than less. How else could one even slightly appreciate oneself?

People just love stuff. Stuff we can form commercialistic empty relationships with. How else would we bog our lives down with sentimental connections?