Exploring the past...

As part of our move to the new house I vowed to go through all my old ratty boxes of junk and clean out, organize, purge. For a month now a big pile of this stuff has sat in our bedroom and last night I decided to make a move. I don't consider myself a pack-rat, but lordy I think I might have a problem. I've saved practically every letter I've ever received...in my life. And I can't bring myself to stop. Seriously. Thank mother nature for email (which I do NOT print, so the accumulation rate has slowed in the last decade). I decided that there wasn't any point to "organizing" them....they roughly follow chronological order anyway. I sifted through a few and it's amazing how quickly my brain can recall intricate details about the distant past based on handwriting, a return address, and a few key phrases. I could NOT bring myself to toss them, but I also could not bring myself to read them. It was painful to dredge up teen angst, embarrassing to read about insecurities (that still exist to some extent) and above all, boring. I decided to put them all in a sturdy box and I filled....I kid you not....a 66 quart tub. One of those extra large tubs you see on sale at Target for $10. It weighs a ton and it's going into the attic. I instructed Steve to burn it when I die and I included the same information on a piece of masking tape on the side of the tub, though I doubt that carries much legal weight. I still feel a pressing weight on me and now it has a more exact measurement....40 pounds to be exact. My only thought is to have a little letter-burning ceremony, but I think that maybe someday when I have nothing to do but pick lint out of the ceiling fan vents I'll want to go through them. For now, this bit of history is acrchived in a plastic tub in my attic.