few weeks ago, I went to, Dawn in my home, books in my library that I left there on deposit. My mother took the opportunity to pass me by most of the 15 jars of jam, a big shoe box full of old papers, saying "Hey, that's you, leave them lying around here since I do not know how long, I never want to see." I complied, partly because my parents still have kindly kept my library for five months, partly because I'm a big consumer of jam, and finally because when she talks like that, do not pick her up.
arrived home, I put the box in a corner, she had gone to stay there again for quite some time.
And I do not know, a desire for storage, a desire for change, a desire to jump off the bottom of this stupid computer, a desire to do something that I do long history of being happy for once in my day, I decided to roll up their sleeves, open the box and sort the damn papers lying around there since ... uh ... the high school, slightly more than ten years.
I found two things: a lighter, remember when I was smoking, and eye, remember when I had round glasses and ugly. Hop trash.
The rest was all a jumble of papers accumulated primarily by too lazy to tidy up, I have on the kitchen table stored in three piles: trash, not trash, and I do not know yet. It included bank statements, time sheets and statements of mutual tricks that are intended only to be discarded as soon as possible by sane people. Hop trash. There were postcards obviously enjoyable holiday. Hop trash too.
The most interesting in there were the letters. There were two dozen of my second year until my early grades. So with tears in his eyes that I started visiting my "personal museum" *. Letters people that I totally forgot about that and came back to me in memory (or not, there are two or three that I'm unable to remember), letters of ex that I had not forgotten (yes, do not mess about, I have not had fifty anyway), and letters from myself to myself (we are happy philosopher at this age, a bit romantic and clearly concon.)
In opening the box, I thought it was going to celebrate for at least two hours to read all that. It amused me five minutes and a half after it became totally boring. Imagine forty persons you send a letter at the same time, talking about things more or less trivial that happened ten years ago, I swear that you will be unable to send them at once.
So I packed up, and I stored it in a cardboard bottom to the basement, awaiting the day when I get to be nostalgic.
* The term is not mine, it is Lewis Trondheim
PS: Tonight is election night. The left has apparently won. Yippee, it's party time, it makes me a beautiful leg than the last time they won and where it has changed my life and those of my fellow citizens (to regional I think). I do not even know why I still listen to the election night. Maybe because it's an opportunity to clean the kitchen ...
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