MY STUFF IS BACK

MY STUFF IS BACK

I have often preached to my children how stuff is really not important.  Having stuff does not make you happy.  While I still believe this is true I have to admit there is a caveat to this assertion.

Not having stuff is miserable, when someone else has your stuff.  It is particularly disturbing when that other person is someone whom you….er….ah….well….FREAKING HATE!!

Four years ago my wife threw me out of my house when I caught her having an affair with another man.  I left because she was so upset that her head was spinning and she was spitting green sputum on the walls.  I guess I should not have left, but….did you even see that movie?

I left and moved into a one bedroom apartment.  I left behind several pieces of antique furniture and various dishes and knick knacks that had been in my family for as many as 175 years.  There was no room in my apartment for these items, and when the house would be put up for sale, an empty house does not show well or so I was told.

I did not think I would miss any of these items; after all they were just stuff.  I was wrong.  The difference is it was my stuff.  I missed my stuff.  Stuff I grew up with.  Stuff I saw every day.  Stuff that had a history.  Stuff that had always been with members of my family was now being used and enjoyed by the enemy.

This last month we went to contract on the house.  The ex is moving to another state.  She is taking my teenage son, but she is not taking my stuff.  (New Jersey custody laws apparently put a very high status on the mother even if she may be insane; well from time to time anyway.  No, I am not a licensed psychiatrist.  I am also not a meteorologist, but I know when it is snowing.)  The point is I have my stuff back.

I really did not think I was materialistic, but I do love my stuff.  Before I go to bed at night, I say goodnight to my stuff.  In the morning I check out my stuff.  I missed my stuff.  I love having my stuff back.  I love knowing that someday my children will share and also love the same stuff.  Stuff that has been loved and admired by members of my family for almost two centuries.

Well not all my stuff.  There was a piece or two that somehow the ex claimed I gave to her as a gift.  I guess they were “here is for boinking another guy” gifts; a little known American tradition. 

But what the hell, it is not much and it is just stuff.  I am sure my long lost relatives who once loved this stuff will understand.  I hope she enjoys that stuff; karma and all!