A Recovering Pack-Rat

Kevin learned this weekend that I’m a recovering pack-rat. We cleaned and organized our garage this past Saturday and, during the process, went through a bunch of old files and papers I’d saved from my teenage years. Much of it was very enlightening. For instance, we found a paper I’d written on why I thought human clones would have a soul. I didn't write this as a school assignment. I wrote it purely for fun. I had completely forgotten how the topic of cloning had been a fetish of mine.

I’ll have to read it again sometime soon. Maybe I’ll even publish it on my blog. Only if it’s good. Or funny. One of the two.

We also found a bunch of e-mails I’d written, a list of home decorating ideas (which, now, I would gag to have my home look like that), and a bunch of old jokes I’d typed out and saved.

It was fun to re-live those years. But, after getting a few laughs from it all, everything lies at the bottom of our trash can. After all, I said I was a “recovering” pack-rat.

One thing I did save, however, was a large (I mean very large) sketch of myself that a street artist drew when I visited New York City for the first time. I told Kevin that I would never hang it in my home – that would be too pretentious – but maybe I would have a grandchild, or perhaps a great-grandchild, someday who will think I’m the greatest thing ever and will want to proudly display it above their fireplace mantle.

Now that’s wishful thinking.