What the eye doesn't see...

כ"ז כסלו, תשס"ז

I am a packrat. I keep things that I think might be useful (and the range of things I find uses for years down the line is not to be believed). I also keep things that I have a sentimental attachment to, which can include absolutely anything to which a particular memory or general period-of-life association is attached. This tendency, not surprisingly, results in a rather unwieldy collection of possessions.

When I moved here, collecting various belongings from storage in Ithaca, storage in my parents apartment, suitcases brought back from Israel, and then some, I finally reached the point of being infuriated with myself for hanging onto so much stuff, and made a mental resolution to throw out a whole lot of it. Having just returned from living for a year with relatively few things within immediate reach, and having schlepped the amount that I did up the stairs outside my new building's service entrance (don't get me started; that's a whole 'nother rant), I looked around my tiny studio and envisioned tossing load after load of junk. Yes, it would take a bit of sorting time, but I would feel so liberated! And besides, if I didn't throw out a significant portion of the stuff, where in the world would I put it??

The problem with these grand declarations was the same as my general problem with settling in -- I started work almost immediately and had very little time thereafter to unpack, acquire furniture, etc. I also had very little time to sort. So happened what always happens when I don't act on a definitive decision right away...the force behind it faltered and mostly dissipated. Now that I am about 97% of the way to being fully moved in, unpacked, and furnished (the apt, that is, not me), I am going through the contents of the most random of the "random stuff" boxes and trying to recall the certainty I had back then of being truly ready to part with most of these things. I've not been extremely successful.

However...I came across a bag of old floppy disks from the first few years of college. I had saved them because of what was on them, I'm sure. I only remember the nature of one or two probable categories of that material, though. I'm sure if I explored the contents of each disk, I could spend several hours engrossed in old email correspondence and grimacing over much-despised school projects. There's one obstacle to such potential reminiscing though -- who has a floppy drive anymore??

I wavered for a few minutes. Maybe I'll find a computer at work on which I could view the files. Maybe...hmmm. And then I realized that I was about to miss a golden opportunity of triumphing over my sentimental side. If I can't see what's on them, I don't get sucked into the memories, the attachment, the wishy-washiness. They're square pieces of plastic that are useless to me because I can't see what's on them. And they're in the trash!

Chalk one up for the expiration factor of technology...