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I had to stay with my mom a few weeks ago because she had surgery and couldn't do anything. And I found that she'd thrown away a box of things I'd left in her attic. Letters that were important to me, and things I'd written to family members in case something happened to me and I didn't get the chance to really show how much I cared about them. She said she threw it away because it didn't look like anything. I can't understand it, how something that's something didn't look like anything. When my mom dies and I find things she wrote and left for me and my sisters and her grandchildren to read, should I say, Well this doesn't look like anything, and throw it in the trashcan? It happens all the time. I can't let anyone around my notebooks, friends, girls, whatever, they throw them away. I complain, and people say it's no big deal, forget about it. But that sounds horrible to me. And some say I should have saved things on a computer if they were important, which sounds even more horrible.

That's why I try to have a Mad Max mentality, just accept that nothing is going to last, and so I don't need anything or anybody. The only way to live is to let everything go. But I find a hard time doing it. That must be why Max is Mad.
maybe if you'd have been dead she'd have read them first and cherished them...or just though fuck it and throw them away anyway Hysterical i keep saying i'd write some letters for after i've gone but can't be bothered. i'm hoping they'll already know i love them, they should, i tell them so every day. if you do another box of stuff write on it in big letters, [really really important stuff, DO NOT THROW AWAY] that said if i'd have done what you did and it was dumpstered, i'd have felt similar to how you feel.
It's kind of hard telling people who make you miserable that you love them. Because then they're going to know that they can get away with making you feel miserable.
You have every right to be outraged. Paper is recyclable.
No. If I love my family, I have to put up with their shit. And I do love them, but I'd rather be an out of work bum who beautiful women don't take seriously than admit that my emotionally abusive family members are right.
I cleaned my brothers room once and put all his important things in garbage bags cause they were large enough, he seems to have gotten along okay since
I forget things I write through a crowd of chaos. Every time I don't care the Furies seem to come. I have to care against my will or else. All those unconscious processes too, and three, and a hundred and hundred and one and a thousand, more. All those processes swarming round about my ego-center. The part of my brain that functions my digestive system gains consciousness and gives me shit for things I did years ago.