I spent a lot of tonight cleaning my room. There are heaps and piles of stuff everywhere. I haven't even made a dent in the giant black hole yet, but whatever. The point is that I feel like I cleaned more of my mind than my room.
I'm a packrat, but I love throwing things out. That doesn't make any sense.
I finally put my jeans from the ninth grade era into the donation pile. I've been putting that off for years. I thought it would suck, but it was actually quite liberating.
I almost threw away something with my full name and social security number on it, but then I realized it and ripped that shiz to shreds.
I found dozens of half-finished fragments of songs. Most of them were awful, but one looked promising. I think I'm going to finish it. I'm so glad it was only a fragment. If I had finished it at the time, it would have been terrible. It means something totally different to me now than it did a year ago when I wrote it. I love songs like that.
I don't actually have anything more to say.