Augh! I seem to be caught between an Omnibus and an Absolute Edition.
In my second life as a comic book enthusiast (my first being in the ’70s as a child), I have been buying single issues and trades since 1986. That’s 26 years (boy, do I feel old at this moment). And in all that time, I have hardly ever exchanged, sold or gotten rid of any part of my collection. Consequently, our house is slowly being taken over by Tribbles… I mean storage boxes. I have suggested to my lovely and understanding better half that we could stack them and make furniture out of them. I had meant it as a joke (no, really!) but that remark didn’t even get a smirk out of her.
It’s not as bad as all that, but even I have to admit that my passion for sequential art is slowly taking over the ship… I mean single-family dwelling. Something must be done and I have put it off for far too long. But, for some reason, parting with just one of my comics seems to be nearly impossible.
This behaviour (or lack of) has me pondering why we get so attached to material things. Could it be because, in our mind, they become part of our identity and, therefore, cannot be dissociated from us? Is the reason that each acquisition represents a portion of time and energy that we had to toil in order to earn the money necessary to purchase it, therefore endowing it with an excessive value? Or is it simply that discarding any type of art seems somewhat sacrilegious?
Whatever the rationalization, I have to wonder why I would hold on to stories I will never read again. But the brain is not my problem, it’s the heart. Hoarding comics (or any other good) fulfils an emotional need (or most likely “want”). Consequently, one must reach a state of being where these items no longer have a hold over us before we can let go. It’s just a question of time. Personally, I think I have finally reached that state of personal growth where I am finally able to scale down my collection. Or get a bigger house.