Victim of clutter

Getting out on the road took some time. Seemed like I was a victim of my own junk collection. All those bits of personal detritus, like my very own sticky land mines, slowing me down, and holding me back from my purposes.

The chyatchka crap, the clutter in storage.

There is a scene is David Bowie's labyrinth where the protagonist is held back by these "Gomi/junk collection ghouls.

"There was something I was looking for, something important that I need to do..."

"Ah but what about this pretty/petty knick-knack, was it this...mmmm...?

Then, before you know it, I am dazed, in a trance, distracted.