Home again, home again...

So, I'm back at home in Rome. Whoopee.

I'm almost positive this is exactly the right thing for me to be doing at this time, but between me and my chance to think about that is my urge to put all of the things I own in places that make sense so I know where they are, plus my urge to throw out all the things I've been packratting for years and have no need for anymore.

A lot of those things are kept in filing cabinets in the basement, where I've been holing away all kinds of greeting cards, letters, pictures, programs, AP and SAT scores, my high school diploma, and all of those other documents that one has an urge to keep, but has no idea what to do with. Amongst these are all the letters and cards I've received from previous boyfriends.

When a relationship falls apart, I have previously resisted the urge to chuck all of the mementos and instead holed them away, convinced that someday I would want to see them again. Well let me tell you, that shit is WRONG. Ugh! Creepy creepy creepy!

Why, oh why did I think I would want to keep all of the cards from Scott asking to love me forever, or all of the letters and various art from Joe proclaiming his undying love, or the letters from Tim saying that he hated me? It just makes you feel dirty all over, folks. Dirty and gross, and uncomfortable! Maybe I thought I would eventually think of those things fondly, but I have to say it's just depressing. Every time a relationship happens I'm so sure it'll be the one that lasts forever, but by definition only one of those can occur, and the keepsakes of the ones that didn't quite make it are not something that makes me happy at all.

In short, all of this shit is now in a recycling bag waiting to be chucked. Let's just say that most things are better left forgotten.