Mistress Matisse's Journal

I'm sitting in a lovely and absurdly large hotel suite overlooking downtown Seattle. Why am I am in a hotel in my own city? I'm on a visit with with my dear friend Traveler.

I often feel like I'm out of town when I spend a couple of days with him, just because it's so not-my-usual routine. (And also because he is so indulgent of me - see various Twitter remarks - that it feels rather like a vacation. A new Herve Leger dress, a decadent dinner, and huge needles through his nipples? Now that's a good time.)

Thus, I was sitting on a couch like a lady of leisure today, leafing through a magazine, when I came across this article: How To Live With Just 100 Things. You can go read the whole thing, but basically it's about how people have too much stuff and why cleaning out your closets is taking on some kind of cultural-movement status.

Huh. Okay, well, whatever floats your boat. But while anyone who has seen the linen closet I share with Max knows we have some stuff we need to get rid of, I'm dubious about picking an arbitrary number - 100, in this case - and saying that's how many things one should own.

The author of the article speaks of "Dumpstering your way into a state of Zen". Oh, give me a break. The belief that buying and owning stuff will make you happy is bogus, but I think it's just as bogus to tell people that cleaning out their garage will make them a more evolved person.

As a writer myself, I do have some sympathy for the author of the piece. Editors say, "Give me X number of words about X topic, by Friday." And you better do it, if you ever want another assignment.

But I don't like or trust quick-fix recipes for personal change. Get rid of what you don't need, but don't go thinking you can unload all your emotional baggage onto eBay and Goodwill.