Today I am feeling as though I have too many things. My apartment is starting to remind me of my parents' house, full of objects with potential so buried under each other as to be made irrelevant, useless. I am throwing a lot of things away, and trying to figure out how I can better appreciate the things I have acquired and have chosen to keep.

There's a lot of old writing. Scraps of paper from years ago that are earnest, but hard to place and easy to criticize. 

Soft instructions for a telephone:

I thought I'd tie my heart to a long string and see how long it'd take to reach you.

I thought I'd move a long way and see how long it took.

I dropped a penny in the lake, and it turned into a tear.

I asked you for a mark, and it turned into a little piece of chain.

It's mostly quite awful, but interesting for me to read now. You know, so much and so little has changed, the usual, you know how it goes.