I am not a pack rat. There is no way. I promise. Growing up I would throw things away just so I wouldn't have to find a place for them. And any time a food or medicine crosses over into the land of expiration I promptly throw it out, whether it is good or not. I sell back my magazines every month when they have been thoroughly read, why save every issue of Rachel Ray for a year? I go through clothes every six months or so and donate the things I don't wear anymore and get rid of stuff if there is just too much stuff. I change my toothbrush out every three to four months and I don't keep extra brushes laying around, you know, just in case. That's disgusting.
Until a few months ago, when my dad proved it to me, I was convinced there was not a single report card, shot record, colored picture, or award from my childhood to prove that I actually existed. I was pretty sure I was adopted as a teenager and brainwashed with selective childhood memories that never really happened. There is hardly any paper proof that I existed before 16.
My sister on the other hand has every paper, journal, report card, notebook, and award she has ever received from the age of two on, nicely packed away in a series of plastic tubs that cluttered my parents garage until they moved a few months ago. That's when my dad said it was time for him to get his home back and we had to take our precious collectibles or else they were going to the garbage. Melissa had seven plastic tubs. I had one small box and a magic treasure chest.
And now I can't get rid of a thing. Not a single thing. I mean, I only have one box of memories, right? Can I really throw that away? It's a magic treasure box. But if I keep it, what do I do with it? This magical box of treasures, what is their purpose? Where do I store them? Do I dust them off, pull them out, and take a moment of remembrance and reflection every year? Why?
I am torn. I need your help. Please view the pictures and list below. If it's worth saving tell me. And Ryan says please give me a reason why and what the heck I should do with it. If Ryan had his choice he'd burn my birth certificate and throw away family heirlooms. He wants reasons. But if I should feel good about getting rid of it... please, give me a pardon! I am stuck in pack rat purgatory! I need salvation!