once a tool . . .

While at The House of My Parents (tm) this weekend, I convinced my dad to help me get the last of my boxes out of the attic. I probably shouldn't say help, because was it me propped on the ladder, risking life and limb to hand down heavy boxes of I-couldn't-even-remember what? No. It was not. It was my father who, admittedly, probably only wanted the boxes out of the way so he could have more space for his useless crap. Packratism runs in the family.

After my freshman year of college, I had accumulated an entire dormroomful of stuff (mostly due to my roommate moving out second semester and giving me more room to spread out) that I had to bring home to my already full room. When I got home, I went through EVERYTHING (and I do mean everything) in my possession, packed up six boxes of stuff I no longer needed for everyday use or couldn't bring myself to throw away, and shoved it all in the attic.

So, on Sunday, five years after packing that stuff away and forgetting about it, I had the pleasure of delving into my past. The best thing I found (better than yearbooks!), other than lots and lots (did I mention lots?) of pictures, was my 8th grade journal.

Wow. I was (was?) a tool.

Ok, sure, everyone is a tool in 8th grade. It's like a rite of passage. Child, Pre-teen, tool, adult. Every night this week, I've sat down and read a couple of old journal entries. It's a humbling experience. I make it about three lines before I cringe, blush, or close the journal and hide it in the freezer. I thought about sharing some of the more embarrassing entries here but I've only read a couple of pages so far. Once I'm done, I'll pick out the best (read: most cringeworthy) and post it. I can't wait. I'm sure you can't either. There's nothing more exciting than reading the thoughts of an overdramatic 13-year-old.

Because I've already crammed too much shit in any available crevice of my apartment (hee, that sounds gross), I went through all of the boxes and separated everything into one of three piles: trash, keep, sell/give away. Believe me, if I could give away the trash pile, I so would, but I really doubt anyone wants my old cheerleading trophies (shut up with your laughing). In case anyone is interested the sell/give away pile includes:

a guitar (that was not in any of the boxes, but it still needs selling)
a stuffed alien
several small figurines
Mulder and Scully dolls (again, with the laughing? shut it)
other crap I can't remember
a bible

Is it bad form to throw/give away a bible? It's not like I need it. When I asked my mom that question, she asked if I was worried that God was going to get me if I got rid of it. I said no, because if God were going to get me for anything it would be for NOT being worried about backlash from trashing a bible.