Of these things, only some are actually "mine", and even of those, how mine are they? How do we really know something is ours?
It's an illusion to own, yet so satisfying.
My cousins said when their baby son was born, the word "mine" multiplied by 100 from their two year old daughter.
Hey, you never thought you'd hear me say this, but I'm even grateful for MY roommates. And my block with very few cars, and my mailbox I have to walk to at the end of the street.
Mine mine mine. Ahhhh.