On the Road to Messy

My stuff is all over my tiny little workspace.
My room is full of useless knick knacks and other items you would find in any pack rat's dwelling.
I love the written word so much I have large piles of paper with random things written on them, mine and other people's.

So can you imagine how real the desire in me is to just take a match and burn everything?

It was a high school fantasy that when I graduate from that school, I would start a bonfire and burn everything. Noli, El Fili, the notes, the handouts, the tests, the questionnaires...
Except my friends had vandalized my notebooks, and I couldn't possibly burn anything that has rantings like FOBulous' desire for my ballpen, our declarations of "free space" on... well, free space, and others like it. I couldn't. I haven't.

College? Well, I barely took notes, and I always promptly disposed of notes from sh!t-a$s subjects like... well, you can guess, I'm sure.

I should know better. I should be well aware of what scraps will make sense months, even years from now, and which I can just dispose of.

I hate this.

Burn, baby, burn.

but not today.