Old Memories and the Reluctance to Throw Out Photos

I am at the point in my apartment purge that I am going through old papers and photos and clearing things out.

I don’t know why I have a tendency to keep birthday/thank you/holiday cards, but I found a whole lot of them stashed from various years.  I also have a collection of photos.

I went through the photos and discovered some very fun ones; I was also reminded that I was *really* bad at photography for most of my life.  What I should do is look through every photo and keep the ones that I like.  Then I can pitch the rest.  For some reason, though, I have an innate reluctance to throw away photos.  I’m not sure what the reasoning for this is.  It’s not like the blurry/dark photo of people who I don’t remember is going to do anyone any good.  It needs to go in the trash.  But a part of me just wants to put all the photos in a box and store it for some unknown future purpose.

To go with this lovely sorting-through of papers, I’ve discovered a whole bunch of random writings.  I have development of fantasy races for a story I don’t even remember, I have the beginnings of at least three different tales; apparently the urge to write has been with me for a long time, but the ability to complete something is relatively new.

Ah, the discoveries and memories of cleaning out my apartment…

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