Wedged between volumes of Ramona books was the very first diary I ever kept, and I found it this weekend while digging through my old closet. Paging through those early days, I noted what weird and wobbly handwriting I had a penchant for, but I was only 7 or 8 years old, trying, with limited skill, to detail my life before details eventually became too mundane to record. For instance, I wrote about the day I nearly succumbed to a powerful flash of capitalist desire, rescued only by my fortunate undiagnosed bi-polarism: "Mom went to the shopping mall to buy the coat. I went with her. I saw a Cabbage Patch Kid that I wanted to buy. But we didn't buy it because I said I didn't want it."
What's in your closet?
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2 comments:
I have a lot of old, worn-out shoes that I'm too lazy to throw away. And some clothes that my wife hasn't come around to pick up yet. I do, however, have a file cabinet in one of the spare bedrooms with reams of embarrassing stuff that I wrote when I was younger (and even more in boxes in the garage).
And a do-it-yourself divorce book sitting in the middle of the dining room table, just waiting for me to pick it up and get back to filling out the forms. Bah.
Some of those Chuck Taylors are still wearable.
Oooh, boxes of embarrassing scribblings from 'the hormonal years' when everything mattered just too much (which was sometime last week, as a matter of fact).
What's the proper way to dispose of that stuff? (and when?). I want to get rid of mine. Burning seems appropriate...
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