Was trying to clean my closet a couple of weeks back, and I discovered that this time I have an extremely lower threshold for throwing things away than I used to have the last time I had a major clean-up around 5 years ago. To no surprise 3/4ths of the closet was filled with boxes and boxes of comic books, clam shell packs of opened action figures, other toys, books books books, and a whole bunch of old text books, papers, notebooks, and other carcasses of high school and college. The quarter of a space left was reserved for clothes, out of obligation.
In a fit of BRP I threw all those damn written stuff, all those books, all those supposedly important papers that I used to think would come in handy in the future. Well you know what, THIS is the future and you have done nothing but accumulate disgusting moldy dust! And to further aggravate this fit i discovered… old high school class pictures! Old high school class cards! Diplomas! Certificates! College portfolios of pretentious poetry!!! Into the sack of things to burn they went, because really, even as a 78-year old man in my rocking chair I don’t think I would ever clutch those darn things and stare at them with nostalgia.
And so to my competitive 13-year old self, unto you I vomit. The bullies were right to bully you, and I commend them for doing so. To you, my 14-year old ugly, brooding, genuinely depressed self, unto you I bequeath my canister of unused Prozacs and pat you on the head and tell you that indeed, indeed, things will get worse. And to you, my 19-year old well-meaning, verbose, pretentious literati, you with your black t-shirt on and your journal of dark, delayed adolescent purple prose, you with your fake thoughts of crime, suicide, and junkieness, unto you my 19-year old-self I offer nothing but mercy… for the unspeakable crime I’m going to do unto you!!!!
It’s time to get a Moolatte.
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