I think we can all agree that quarantine has done something to our collective brains. For me, it's a growing irritation with "stuff". Important stuff, unimportant stuff. If it exists and is non-sentient, I'm probably upset with it.
I think my socially dehydrated consciousness has personified the physical objects I've surrounded myself with. I quarantined alone in my Washington, D.C. apartment and had no social contact outside of basic pleasantries with fellow masked individuals at the grocery store. So while most of the world grew sick of the constant companionship of their living partners, I directed my irritation onto my possessions. I couldn't crave alone time, it was the one thing I had an endless supply of. Like a sulky toddler I just wanted to throw random objects away from myself because I was so annoyed by their presence. Rationally, I knew I just wanted quarantine to end and for the virus to evaporate so we could resume life as we had known it. Irrationally, I wanted to set the majority of my personal possessions on fire.
Ultimately, I think what held me back from throwing most of my stuff into the garbage was a desire to not be wasteful. Most donation sites were temporarily closed and I convinced myself to hold off until they reopened so that perfectly usable items were not destined for a landfill. I gleefully filled empty Trader Joe's bags, looking forward to the day when Goodwill would reopen and I could rid myself of the random items I had directed my ire at.
I thought my annoyance with my personal belongings would dissipate once I moved out of my apartment and was once again living with other people. And yet, here I sit, glaring at the contents of my one bedroom apartment squished into the spare bedroom of my parents' house. Perhaps the whole experience is about to propel me into a more intense commitment to minimalism. Maybe I was just forced to confront how much I own and was angered by my own consumption. Then again, maybe my brain is just really fried.
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