Things are changing. I'm going through my old stuff, throwing out things I haven't looked at in ten years. Really, this is a process that began in mid 2000 and will continue beyond now, but at the moment everything's weird. I just threw out my old high school year books. I don't miss them and I won't miss them in 40 years. I can't remember the names of most of the people in my English class and I don't want to.
One disintigrating folder held my year 12 assignments. It's gone now. There's a bunch of short stories I wanted to turn into a novel. In the bin. Why was I carrying this shit around? I've saved a few things, things I might actually use or need but that's it. I'm sick of carrying this stuff around and I'm sick of having it filling my room in old banana boxes.