A broken plastic knife and a box full of soap carvings.
So I've been cleaning out my room lately, and I've been forced to come to a rather unpleasent conclusion.
I am a packrat.
In attempting to clean out my desk and adjacent storage, I have removed a stack of paper approximately eight inches high for recylcing. This includes random things I printed out off the Internet (including a Star Trek drinking game and really awful free verse about the Borg), random things I saved from school (including stuff that I clearly thought was wonderful poetry when I was thirteen) and just really random things, like my sister's Spanish notes from high school, various stickers, a magazine interview with Patrick Stewart and a map of Russia.
I realized I have an entire drawer full of perfectly good folders, some stolen watercolor paper, and the paperwork from every speech meet I attended in middle school.
I have some sort of certificate from the fourth grade, but no idea what it's associated with.
I have a lot of old writing and writing-related detritus: short stories from middle-school English class, random notes in my planner about X-Files fanfic, handwritten lists of character for the epic Star Trek AU I never actually wrote, an outline for the novel with the talking dog back from back when I thought anything to do with vampires just had to be cool. I found about five or six maps of worlds I'll never write about and the earliest English version of my 2003 NaNo novel. (The earliest-ever version was in German, and two pages long.)
A lot of the stuff I'm finding falls into a weird limbo between "I want to hold onto that" and "I want to pitch that." The toy car with the right-side transmission, for instance, or the good-as-new deck of War cards. I'm wondering if my parents are planning another garage sale...
I am a packrat.
In attempting to clean out my desk and adjacent storage, I have removed a stack of paper approximately eight inches high for recylcing. This includes random things I printed out off the Internet (including a Star Trek drinking game and really awful free verse about the Borg), random things I saved from school (including stuff that I clearly thought was wonderful poetry when I was thirteen) and just really random things, like my sister's Spanish notes from high school, various stickers, a magazine interview with Patrick Stewart and a map of Russia.
I realized I have an entire drawer full of perfectly good folders, some stolen watercolor paper, and the paperwork from every speech meet I attended in middle school.
I have some sort of certificate from the fourth grade, but no idea what it's associated with.
I have a lot of old writing and writing-related detritus: short stories from middle-school English class, random notes in my planner about X-Files fanfic, handwritten lists of character for the epic Star Trek AU I never actually wrote, an outline for the novel with the talking dog back from back when I thought anything to do with vampires just had to be cool. I found about five or six maps of worlds I'll never write about and the earliest English version of my 2003 NaNo novel. (The earliest-ever version was in German, and two pages long.)
A lot of the stuff I'm finding falls into a weird limbo between "I want to hold onto that" and "I want to pitch that." The toy car with the right-side transmission, for instance, or the good-as-new deck of War cards. I'm wondering if my parents are planning another garage sale...