I found it a bit depressing to realize that I was a compulsive buyer.
While discussing today with my friend M, I realized that I were less a buyer, a collector.
Buy. Much.
Almost never new.
All recycled.
I think the second (and third and fourth, etc. .) life of an object: clothing, record, book, home, whatever.
There is not a week goes by that I buy something: in a bazaar, a thrift shop at Value Village, etc..
BUT this only comes poking fun, with a sense of having discovered something special, the find of the century.
I take a lot of fun to go home and take care of all these objects:
- sew a garment, change the buttons to give him a different air
- shining shoes / boots to bring them back to life ;
- re-listen to a cd / vinyl-forgotten
- reading a dusty old classic;
- make her happy kitchen with a curtain that Madame was tired of seeing;
- drinking my coffee in cups retro Mr. Doe has returned to his cottage he sold to a Mr. X
etc.. etc..
Because these objects then have stories, because it's crazy to think the way they made to meet with me.
Because I like reading the dedication of a (an) unknown (e) the book I have just opened, because it's fun discovering what they have said in the book or simply have their name signed on the first page.
Because I wonder at that old vinyl was well preserved and listened this music.
Because I always thought that going lady, somewhere, gave these then clothes, saying: I wonder who it will ben used these old rags ... then
Because sometimes I hope to hear next to me aunt tell her friend hey I had a jacket even in time! And even laugh at hearing: cursed dress that badly ...
Finally.
I love it.
A lot.
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