Still hate thinking up titles.

I am, it would seem, constitutionally incapable of keeping anything I write. I wrote an online web journal for years, then let the domain expire. And lost the flash drive that had the only backup of all that writing. I started another web journal, wrote in it for a while, let it expire.

I always think that someday I will regret losing all of those words, but I never really do. Mostly what I regret is having to redo the site design when I inevitably decide to start writing online again. Like now.

But the words are ephemeral. I think I don’t really like having a huge amount of writing following me around, like boxes and stacks of paper accumulated in a hoarder’s house. I want a clean slate. It’s the same thing that drives me, every so often, to throw away everything in my house that isn’t nailed down.

I mean, not everything. We keep the books, the artwork. The piano makes the cut. But the binders of old schoolwork, the mementos saved from years’ worth of July 4 and Christmas parades, the outgrown toys, the correspondence…I let it reach a critical mass and then it all goes at once, in a great cleansing purge.

My writing is the same, I suppose.

And at any rate, most of it is still hanging out in the Internet Wayback Machine, if I ever felt inclined to retrieve it.

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