I am prone to hoarding, with a close friend recently describing me as a nervous squirrel scurrying for acorns—always worried that winter is around the corner.
I fill my purse and bags with acquisitions from the fruit stand, the supermarket, and the newspaper vendors. The space under my work desk is a graveyard of magazines, clothes, newspapers, half-eaten bags of pretzels, half-filled notebooks, clothes that I was supposed to donate.
I acquire new friends, new men, new projects, and fight boredom with these new acquisitions. I acquire "things" with the speed and frenziness of buyout moguls—except the only thing I'm getting from this is a grand mess.
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