I am editing - again.
Yesterday, I filled up a recycling bin with my undergraduate degree, every boardmeeting note I made over 7 years and every bill I have paid since 2002.
My Dad gave me a kind of permission to arrange my photos so that the past does not hurt as much to look at, 'chuck em out if they make you feel like shit'. The relief!
Confessions: I have kept every letter that has ever been sent to me. I hoard ephemera. The strangest stuff.
And that pile of my journals going back fifteen years - to burn or not to burn? The catharsis urge is so strong at the moment I could just about do it without a qualm.
Do you dare me?
I dare myself.
Incidentally, I turned thirty a few days ago. I think it is a rare thing, but at this birth commemoration I feel like I fit my age.
Thirty feels like a blessed relief: exciting, funny, blessed relief.
2 comments:
i dare you! (I couldn't, only because I wonder if one day I might be able to rewrite it all into a shape that feels more pleasing.)
thinking of you,
x
d
I burned my journals years ago. Not even actually burned, just binned - an anti-climax.
There's been nary a second of regret on that decision. I carry around my painful and awkward years in my head and heart and I don't need them manifest in cheap paper and those coloured scented pens.
And now I'm thinking of those photos of years of bad hair and white accessories, and the thought of binning them is very enticing.
So it's not a dare, it's just a 'do it'
Kris
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