what you brought to the party

WHAT YOU BROUGHT TO THE PARTY
Post 2 of 2 today

First off, I want to state that many, many times I thought I was a sick and diseased individual. “I just ain't right” was my usual refrain as I bought yet another over the top survival purchase. I thought it was a sickness, the exact opposite of my previous sickness which was never owning anything except what I could fit in two duffle bags. That was TOO frugal and minimalist, as I kept buying books over again after I had donated them at moving time. Now, I was increasingly burdening myself with duplicates, of duplicates, of prepper gear.

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I mean, a ten pack of whistles. I was vaguely envisioning something along the lines of a sentry alert or communications. With no clear plan, I bought the whistles. Hell, why not? They were a few bucks including shipping. But then, as usual, I think I'll lose them, or they get stolen, or a house fire happens. Better get another ten pack! Magnifying glasses. I keep running across more of them every time I dig into an unmarked box or a WalMart plastic bag. When did I get that? I just couldn't get enough of everything. A dollar store was as dangerous to me as another discount shoe store was to a Barbie Princess.

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Understand, this was ongoing. I didn't own that much in 2006, living in a small RV and mostly buying silver while it was stupid cheap ( well, okay, and junk land ). I had a manageable amount of books. Just one closet full. Under 100. Now? 1,500 just from Amazon. And that is reference books. I have no idea how many bags of paperbacks I have. Or Kindle books. Those books were just from my Amazon ad commissions, leaving my other asset procurement program to my regular paycheck. Understand, I lived frugal to prep frugal.

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How many wool sweaters do I have from working almost nine years next to the thrift store? No idea, but three dozen might be close. Wool socks? Again, no idea. I've told you of my storage-pack any dry storage container or space full. No organization, just pack it in. If I couldn't find something, I just bought more of it at the dollar store, thrift store, on sale from Sportsman's ( when they used to be a real military surplus company prior to the current Yuppie Scum Tactical Tommy Outfitter ), even trash picking.

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How many #10 cans of freeze dried foods do I own, all trash picked ( some clearly from the 70's and 80's )? No idea. Some is the equivalent of canned Brussel sprouts or okra, something no one wants to eat. Half is just a fly by night company's version of soy flour. 100 cans? Perhaps. Who cares? Being almost all crap, I can't see most of it being anything other than barter. It is worth close to nothing now, being out of date or the cans being less than shiny and new. But that kind of condition or desirability pertains to almost everything I bought. Unwanted, surplus, close to zero cost. Even during the ammo drought I got 7.62x54r at a quarter each, in Spam cans ( components useful in 303 Brit rounds ), shipping included.

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My bicycle parts were dirt cheap, nobody much interested in buying beach cruiser parts ( busy loving on mountain bikes ). My Enfield parts and ammo going for a song, after the rifle prices moved into collectors range and accessories were marked down to discontinue ( you'll have the same experience with the AR, just from competition of a surplus of sellers ). The low price shopping was helped by my compulsiveness. I was ALWAYS pinching day-to-day expenses pennies to buy more prepping supplies.

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A dozen years of this behavior, fueled into a white hot passion by the never wavering belief of imminent collapse and die-off. Most of you are long time readers and know first hand my shrill paranoia. But really, almost the whole time after the first year going all in on prepping a step up from city RV living levels of storage, I kept stepping back and looking at it impartially as a compulsion I was powerless to stop. I KNEW it was excessive and yet I could not cease. It went way beyond hoarder sickness. I was stocking trash picked bundles of newspapers to use as toilet paper, used dish soap and laundry soap containers for eventual use with homemade liquid soap ( and back-ups to that when they cracked and broke ).

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I looked like a recycler, not a prepper. And yet. I'm now sitting at home, almost completely self quarantined, and I'm pretty happy with my supplies. I feel no compulsion to go shopping ( I only had one emergency run, with those disposable batteries. I think I could have done far worse ). The thought that nothing else will ever get shipped over from China doesn't actually much concern me. I feel at peace. Perhaps I wasn't so darn crazy after all. Being as paranoid as I was both prepared me physically, but also mentally. I'll admit, there was the more than usual stress induced stomach discomfort, at first, but I've mostly settled in for the apocalypse.

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I am not bragging. Far from it. I still think I am surrounded by too much crap. I had read up a bit on the author H.P. Lovecraft, who was about as dysfunctional as they come. He lived his whole adult life in poverty, a voluntary choice so you could write ( perhaps influenced by his issues holding menial jobs, granted ). He was rather proud of his frugality, many days living mostly on old coffee and donuts from a shop down the street. Which probably had a little something to do with his early death by stomach cancer. I worried. Am I acting like this crazed ass writer of yore?

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So, no, I'm definitely not bragging about any foresight. I thought I was acting slightly irrational. Perhaps more than slightly. I wrote about collapse. I lived like collapse was assured, tomorrow. I thought about collapse most waking hours. I sought out entertainment about collapse, to relax. I regret none of it, don't get me wrong. But it does seem a queer way to live. I don't even know how much I care about collapse, but rather writing about it. Was I just living like this for subject matter for research? Again, I never had any doubt about the collapse happening. I'm just not sure about my psychoses behind it.

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Yes, understood, way too much navel gazing. Welcome to my world, bitches. It has been a most interesting journey. I'm beginning to appreciate the genius of John Wilder, who wrote a great article on how mental illness is a survival mechanism ( John, buddy, a link please? Don't leave me hanging. If it was me, disorganized, I wouldn't know what I wrote last week, let along last year. You are not such a hot mess ). Do I fall into that category? The Darwin Awards ceremony is going to be VERY interesting.

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Now, did anyone ( Bueller, Bueller ) notice I barely even touch the subject matter here? Living with what you have on hand, as no resupply is coming. I'll continue this tomorrow. No, Francis, we won't be returning to Business As Usual.

( .Y. )

( today's related Amazon link click HERE )

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