I wish my parents were more like other parents and kept all my childhood stuff stored away. Unfortunately, they’ve pawned it all off back on me. And I just don’t have the space for it. Every time I move, I clean out a little more. I throw out a few things and slooooowly am cutting down on the crap I’ve collected. I’m talking diaries, drawings, the several versions of my “great novel”, old schoolwork, exams, reports, you name it.
At what point do you get rid of this stuff? I don’t really know. I have a hard time letting go of things.
But this time I’ve purged more than ever before. I really feel like I’m moving into a new stage of life and I don’t need to hold on to the past. I’m not going to need old reports. I don’t want to read my angsty journals; they make me cringe, and I wouldn’t want anyone else to read them either. I doubt I’ll ever write a bestselling novel, but if I do, it sure won’t stem from the pages and pages I filled when I was eleven years old!