I have an old, shitty lamp on my bedside table and my mom bought me a newer, fancier lamp, but when I wound the cord around the old lamp, it looked "sad."
And I know a lamp cannot be "sad": I know that I am just thinking of that lamp from the IKEA commercial that is put out in the rain because its owner bought a newer, better, IKEA lamp, and the narrator comes out and says, "Do not feel sorry for the lamp." And I DO! I feel awful for the lamp in the commercial, the same way I feel bad for the milk creamer in the other commercial-- the cow with the pleading puppy dog eyes who gets crushed on a table beneath two people having sex. And the narrator peeks his head out once more and says, "Do not feel sorry for the milk creamer..." and I want to bash his face in and say, "WHAT DO YOU KNOW, YOU GODDAMN SLAVIC NARRATOR? HAVE YOU EVER BEEN A MILK CREAMER? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THEIR LIVES ARE LIKE?"
This has always been a problem for me-- sympathy toward inanimate objects. After reading the book "The Velveteen Rabbit," in which a little boy forgets about a beloved rabbit and the toy is eventually discarded and taken to be burned (due to contamination by germs) I was given my own velveteen rabbit toy by my mother and I proceeded to take inordinately good care of it. I built it a bed out of wood from the garage and sewed it a mattress, pillow, and blanket. (I was young-- my parents helped). I carried it around everywhere in a specially-made sack so that it would never feel lonely. I talked to it. And only now, at 24, am I slowly coming to the realization that it is stuffed with cotton and has no emotions.
TOASTERS DO NOT HAVE EMOTIONS! But watching the Brave Little Toaster made me weep for the misused appliances. Toy Story tugged at my heartstrings as I watched what the horrible neighbor child did to the innocent toys. There is a movie coming out next year called "Cars," in which animated Pixar cars talk to each other and I hope to god I have sold my Volvo before then or else I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do it.
It is incredibly hard to throw things away when you are emotionally attached to them; when you project your human feelings onto them. While I don't actively sleep with it anymore, my blanket that I loved as a toddler is still floating around my room.
I've had this blanket since I was a baby. And I used to love it-- I needed it both for warmth and mental comfort. If my blanket was there, I was safe.
Now that I'm holding down a steady job, I can afford lots of other, warmer, longer blankets. I don't need my baby blanket anymore. But I can't be absolutely positive that it doesn't need me.