Clearing Away the Crazy Cobwebs

This weekend, I have been going through stuff in my apartment, either to toss it or pack it. I am also making a pile for Goodwill. So far I have packed 10 boxes and that is just books, DVDs and CDs. When I think of how much crap I have collected since moving to Florida nine and a half years ago, and how much stuff I brought with me from Chicago, I cannot imagine how many boxes I will eventually need for everything.

Today I found an old journal from 1997-1999. This was the two years right before I moved to Florida. I read all the entries and it made me cry and made me a little nauseous too. Most of the entries were discussions of how ugly, crazy, bored, or disappointed I was. Just miserable stuff to read. I was very unhappy toward the end of my Chicago years. I remember telling people who asked that the reason I moved to Florida was a "mini midlife crisis". I wasn't lying, although at the time it did not seem like the right explanation. Apparently I really needed to get away from that situation and quick! Florida hasn't been a 10 year joyride or anything, don't get me wrong. I do, however, find myself happier. Perhaps that is a function of getting a little older and smarter or more likely a case of less DUI (Drama Under the Influence).

I kept all these journals (there are more than just the one I found today) because I wanted all aspects of my life to be documented. Not having any children, I thought it would be some sort of lasting record of my existence. Also, I felt it was important to keep the journals so I wouldn't forget what I was like and what I did and how I felt at those times in my life. Now I am not so sure that is a wise thing to do. I don't think I want those miserable written memories to stay around forever. I am sure I will never forget how crazy I was in my late 20s and early 30s. I don't need to written proof. And who the hell would want to read them and keep them after I'm gone?

So I decided to take that journal and shred the pages and throw it away. It felt good. It would have been more cathartic to burn it, but I didn't want to set off the smoke detector. I wonder what other treasures I will dig up? If they are anything like that journal, then I just have 4 words to say: F**k it, chuck it!