heartlessly tossing miscellaneous papers, relics of some version of me no longer relevant, into the wastebasket: i hoped that doing so would prevent them from further wasting my time (reviewing, sorting, reminiscing, storing, moving). it might yet, but they did not leave me without insidiously impressing upon my unconsciousness: i dreamt of them. i read one short, casual correspondence & it was as if years had not carved their passing on me.
i will not forget but i will ignore.
returning to the physical aspect of purging: the house is a mess. i move from drawer to drawer, culling, compiling, driving chaos into every cranny. i am over it! i have a bigger mess to clean up than when i started--another perfect lesson in futility.