Containers.
Containers of almost any sort. But especially if they're glass. Or wood. Or small.
I've been collecting containers since I was really little. I used to save the small boxes that paper clips came in, or scavenge through the spice cupboard for empty jars.
My buttons? They live in Yellow Curry's old house. The basket on my dresser? It had a past life holding a bath set. I hadn't realized how often I bring containers to my room until yesterday, when I nabbed a flimsy wooden fruit crate that was about to go out to the trash. Of course it will make a great knitting basket.
Or not.
Once I counted eleven other containers (bowls, baskets, vases, pencil holders, re-purposed altoids containers, etc.) in my half of the bedroom (Chrissy and I share), I decided that adding the splinter-ridden crate was too much.
They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step towards overcoming it. And I resisted the last container, so I guess I'm well on my way!
Isn't it funny how you collect things without realizing it? I have a bunch of little bags, most I never use. But I just like little bags! And I have lots of containers, too -- they are supposed to keep things more organized in my room, but they actually seem to just keep it more cluttered.
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