Life in a black garbage bag.

I was feeling… agitated tonight.  So I decided to start shredding the shit I wouldn’t want anyone else to find or to have to deal with when I’m gone. Holy shit, how cathartic! I shredded for over an hour, until I’d filled a big black garbage bag, and now I’m tired of listening to the “whirrrr” and feel like I can go to bed and continue tomorrow.

Everything just made me think that I’m not losing a thing, not a fucking thing, if I decide not to stay around.  Here are all my nicely filed receipts, from when I had a real job and did professional development!  Here’s an old lease from when I was still married!

All of it attesting to the hope I had back then, that I thought having more bills than money and more work than fun was just a step along the way — not that I thought “I’ll be happy when,” because I was a hell of a lot happier long long ago than I am now.  It’s just, it’s all records of a life that I’m never going to live. So fuck it! Into the shredder it goes!  Entire folders from the filing cabinet, of shit that eventually I started shredding face down so I wouldn’t have to see what it was.  Now there’s no evidence of that, for me or anyone else.


One thought on “Life in a black garbage bag.

  1. I’ve been doing the same, going through old college folders and notebooks. Why did I keep all of that? It is liberating in its way, but I’m no less weighed down with my depression and existential angst as a result. Just cleaning house, I guess, so I can eventually “move” out more easily. Scary thought.

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