dear don't you think about missing things that are still there diary,
when i look around sometimes i remember things i used to have and some of those things i still have but they aren't the same like they used to be. what i really mean, my things are the same- they just don't mean what they used to to me anymore. will they have significant meaning again do you think? prolly not, i say- but i pack my things just in case they do, or i get alzheimer's and need something fun to play with. oh the boxes i have set aside for the day that comes. and if i do get lucky and don't get the disease and just up and die and my kids are left with those silly fucking boxes to go through- well- they will have a fucking ball one saturday night sitting around doing that. i've kept some stupid, and i mean stupid fucking shit. but... it is my shit. a whole lifetime of shit that i add to everyday.