Stuff

I loathe stuff. You know, stuff. Getting stuff, having stuff, finding places to store stuff. Then eventually having to throw out stuff. Stuff me, if there aren't days when the stuff of life gets me plain down. Well, now Christmas is looming. Jeez, more stuff. Stuff for landfill. This year I'm escaping from Christmas, hopefully going camping in a place where the locals haven't yet heard of Christmas. It's unlikely though, because there's barely a place left on earth now where there's not stuff. Am I alone in my stuffy attitude? Thoughts please. I know it's not bookish, but hell it's important.