I can't believe I'm choosing this plinky to write on when there were countless easier ones to do that wouldn't cause me to look like a complete and total book nerd. But, what else can you be, but yourself, correct?
Alright collection number one: (this entire list may also make me seem like a hoarder, but I keep things in neat, collective piles and organize them so they look strangely acceptable to outsiders, aka my father who constantly wants me to clean my pleasant, but cluttered room). PS. Yes I am one of those kids who moved back in with their parents after graduating college and moving across the country – free food!
Anyway, collection number one: bookmarks.
I collect bookmarks because, well, basically I like anything to decorate a book. A book cover, a bookmark. I like that half inch that sticks out from the middle of the pages and how you can just tuck it in further towards the end when you're reading. I like that some have moving animals when you twist them up and down, and some have famous book quotes, or famous ladies with bee hive hairdo's that once wrote something impeccable (Virginia Woolf is the most common I've come across). I like that I can write mini-notes to myself on bookmarks that are just torn out paper from a notebook and my mother will find them later and pin them to my tack board. And, then of course I'll find them and read them and they'll say something like, "do you think humans smell bad to dogs?" and I'll think, wow, sometimes I'm a real idiot…OR am I the next JK Rowling with this imagination? Hah. I flatter myself. I like when I find money in a book because I used a five as a bookmark and then lost it. It's always when I desperately need a frappachino or something. Anyway, my friends send me bookmarks all the time that they find and know I'll love and so my collection is tacked up on my board and whenever I feel like one of them fits the book I'm reading, I take it down and let it crease between the pages.
Collection Numero Dos: Clothes.
I think it's come to the sad fact where I just need to admit this to myself. I, at one time, probably still, had forty-seven pairs of jeans, and yes they all fit me (probably not now). But up until a few years ago I was the same size since seventh grade and so I just pretty much collected a whole slew of clothes that have now taken over the corners of my room. I have a mini-bookshelf of clothes even, as if I don't have enough books that could fit in these shelves piled high in my parents garage. It's safe to say I have a problem and Goodwill should probably call me to work this one out.
Collection Numero Three: Charm bracelets of people I do not know.
"She's a super freak, super freak, she's super freaky! YA!" Go ahead, sing it, I know what you're thinking. We have this super rad flea market that I've found everything interesting you could think of from doorknobs attached to chunks of wood and painted (the lady was way overpriced) to iron mermaids for your yard (full size) to marbles, and Barbies' missing limbs. It's like the civil war of garages out there really. And the things I love to find most at the flea market are: charm bracelets and/or lockets (I once found the exact locket my dead grandma wore in this picture my mom has in the hallway from our living room to kitchen, at the flea market and got it for about ten bucks. So, even though it wasn't my grandma's, I pretend it's hers. What a great find), old pictures of people I don't know that I could maybe write a poem about, old postcards written in really wonderful handwriting to boyfriends at war (I have this obsession with girls who used to wear their boyfriend's pins and then write to the boys when they fought for their country, laying on their canopy beds, swooning), and books of course. Countless, flea market books, and one life-giving cookbook. So, I collect other peoples treasures. I would never go as far as to go out on the beach with my little meter reader and find jewels and metals buried in the sand, but I may one day dig through trash cans after yard sales. You never know where you could end up in life. Craiglist Craig could be your very best friend.
Collection Number Four (last one I think): Beanie Babies.
Now, I don't really collect beanie babies, but I feed my father's habit by buying him Beanie Babies and so I think it's only fair to add myself as an accomplice to the thousands of beanie babies that line bookshelves, in their cookie containers, in my father's upstairs office. I'm an enabler. We need to go on Intervention. Creepily enough, we were downstairs watching a segment on Princess Di after the royal wedding and my nephew came down to drag my dad upstairs and ask him if he could have one of his Beanie Babies. My nephew is already an evil genius, so he points out the purple Princess Di bear and asks my father to take it out of its' case so he can love it. He's three. He had no idea the connection that he just made. And he's a creeper.
Okay, now that I've exhausted my fingers and this topic, and your eyes probably if you've made it through this whole ridiculous thing. I'm going to go drink some hot cocoa (in the middle of summer) on my brother's back porch with his sweet-faced German Shepard and toast to hoarders all over the world for their memories and their psychological issues.