books

Whew!

I just spent three hours sitting on the living room floor, half-watching Singin’ in the Rain while sorting through all my papers from first year.  Keep or Toss* is a much harder game to play than Truth or Dare!

(*And by Toss, I mean, of course, Ditch At My Parents’ House.  They’re as squirrelly as I am.  When going through my desk at home, I came across a folder of report cards.  From kindergarten.)

The scale was lying around, too — left over from weighing luggage before the Vacation of Awesome.  So when I was done being a Back to School Triage Nurse, I weighed it all.  Five pounds to keep, thirty to recycle.  That’s as much as a small child.  Not that I would ever condone recycling a child!

Seriously, when did I get all this paper?  One of my majors in college was literature, and I didn’t have this much stuff floating around.  Ever.  My binder of thesis materials, where I obsessively stored every draft and outline and napkin-scribble, was maybe half the size of my anatomy papers.

Let’s look at it this way: I’m preserving a remarkable record for posterity.  In the 24½th century, some poor sap of a medical historian will stumble across this veritable treasure trove of millennial medical education and exclaim, “Great Jumpin’ Jehosephat, the stories are true! People actually used bleached cellulose-based writing surfaces in the olden days. And what’s this? They thought there were five compartments of the leg? Oh, dearie me.”

Next up: do the same with my textbooks; at least I can sell some of those.  But first, perhaps, sleep.

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