I'm afraid that I might be a Pack Rat. Today Bee and I spent a couple of hours going through some trunks and boxes that are stored under the house. Scary. I found letters and cards from old friends and family, and a stack of love/hate letters from an old boyfriend. I actually found a One Year Diary from 1977 with a single entry in it that says: "Saturday, January 1st. Hi Diary. Today is the very first day of 1977, and so far it has been a shitty day. I think Di and Tree are mad at me and school starts on Monday. Yuck! My New Year's resolution is to write in you every day, no matter how busy I am. Gotta go. Bye. P.S. 'Brian's Song' is on tonite." That is all that is in this diary, yet I somehow felt compelled to keep it for 33 years? What the hell? I've kept letters from people I'm not even friends with anymore, letters that I wrote yet never mailed, old birthday cards, postcards, notes, fanzines, notebooks, sketchbooks, journals, manila envelopes crammed with odds and ends, etc., etc., etc. I guess I kept all of this stuff over the years for sentimental reasons, but it's not like I ever look at any of it or even think about any of it. So why bother keeping it? I'm really torn because I just want to throw it all away, but since I've kept it for so long maybe I should just keep it for another 30 years. Yuck! Then I'll just be a little old lady with a bunch of crap from my past. I really should just throw the whole lot away. Except for the One Year Diary. I'm definitely keeping that.
This is too good.
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