purge

Yesterday I purged my parent's attic of highschool artwork that had been sitting there, well, since highschool. It felt great. It was a little appetizer of freedom: from history, from stuff, from the reigns of what was and could have been.
Well, I tried to throw it away. I had brought all the trash outside, I was about to bring it to the curb and my dad spots me. He raids my pile and grabs a good half of what I had chosen to chuck. Oh well. The upside is that now it's his problem, his belonging, his memory. Not mine. I renounce my claim to the first evidence of my early artistic proclivities. It has been thankfully relegated to memory. Except of course, for what my dad has cloistered away.
I did also find papers that I wrote in my senior year of highschool and freshman year of college. I still haven't learned to proofread.

Ok. Its too early for me today. Goodnight.