I am feeling disconcerted at not having a lot of my stuff here. Stuff, as in individual items, and a lot, as in the apartment is echo-ingly empty. I don't have things packed away to make room for the things I'm actually using. I have room. I miss my stuff. I find my camp chair to be uncomfortable. I could sit on the floor with pillows! Oh, I don't have any pillows, either. Even on the air mattress I call my bed. When I start to think about what I 'need' to go out and get the list gets long and I don't know where that line is where I shouldn't spend so much money on stuff that I will eventually (soon?) not need because I'll have my 'real' stuff here. At some point I realize that I can probably go spend money on some more peanut butter and even a gallon of bottled water without guilt, but it is a slippery slope. I use my plastic dish as a platform to microwave a salmon burger (don't recommend them, btw), and wonder if I'll melt it into a horrid mess. It didn't. However, the fact that my choices are the plastic plate or a stainless saucepan when it comes to cooking utensils gives me pause. If you saw just how MUCH kitchen paraphernalia I own that is somewhere adrift in Missouri (I hope) you would realize why this is a confusing moment for me.
The upshot is I'm starting to feel the familiar depression starting to form clouds on my horizon. I know I need to start eating better. I need to get some kind of center going where I feel at home. This is all messing with my proclaimed desire to head towards minimalism. Hey, I'm supposed to be having wonderful gushes of lightness and freedom in my nearly empty apartment with it's empty kitchen cabinets. I hate to run out and fill the space until I give this experiment more time. But, it's getting cloudy around here, emotionally.