Pruning, pruning. Look at the photographs, colors washed already and barely 30 years, bad photographs of people who's names I struggle to remember, of places, I was a bad photographer, candid snapshots, "scenic photographs" done a million times better by a million other people a million times since, tear them up. Letters from people long forgotten. Tear them up, tear them up. Save, one, two maybe per album - If I can't remember, what will the children make of it?. I won't come this way again. Tear them up, tear them up.
Another box, DVD's, really? When? Never mind. They can go in their own pile, to the thrift shop.
CD's - a few will get a listen, the rest, the mixed tapes of forever-ago, tastes change and if you need to live in the past there's always AM radio...But they can wait for sorting, I've enough on my plate for the moment, trunks of photos, letters, notebooks to be shredded or annotated. And the CD's - maybe a few classical ones I can save, YouTube can get overwhelming with their ads, a CD promises a more focused and thoughtful listening experience.
I'm trapped here, imprisoned, in the dismal cave of memory, tear it up, tear it up, easier to just walk away but that sorts out nothing, and there's a lot here to be sorted...