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Write essays every day no exceptions – Archaeology of the self June 9, 2010

Posted by Conventioneering in Armchair philosophy, write every day no exceptions.
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I cleaned my room today, or, to put it more accurately, I made a dent in the giant pile of junk that I call a room. I’ve been doing this for a while now, but I’m pretty bad at it, because of an utter inability to focus.

Cleaning upsets me, and not for the reasons you might think. It’s not because of the chore itself – that I don’t particularly mind. It’s throwing things out. Everything is a memory, and getting rid of items is cutting out bits of the self. There’s only so much I can hold in my head. My memories are notoriously unreliable, fading into a swirling fog where dreams are often more vivid than reality.

And not just that. A thousand ghosts sit in those old memories. Here’s a letter from a friend whose name I’d forgotten. Here’s a gift I never sent. Once, I even found a letter from myself, saying that when I read this, the old me would be dead, and giving a list of things that old me hoped I’d accomplished.

I’d managed none of them.

Cleaning is more like the archeology of my life. A thousand dead ghosts of might have beens.



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