I couldn't sleep last night. I was determined to move my stuff. Without knowing where they might hit me next, I honed in on all my Franklin Planners that I have kept over the years. I know that if they want to, they can look through them and ask, for example, "Who's (stripper girlfriend's name)?" And I won't know what to say. For all the rank invasion of privacy they have just inflicted upon me, none of it appears to be sexual in nature -- as in they haven't found my porn or my cum towel because I had the foresight to throw those into my storage unit. Thank goodness I still have that. But, if they want to snoop and look at what I wrote, they might figure shit out. And if they do, I wouldn't know what to do then. And I'll leave it at that.
So I devised a plan on taking all my Franklin Planners and throw them into my car to eventually take to my storage place. But I've been using day planners for, once I started packing them into bags, for upwards of a quarter century. That's a quarter-century's worth of papers I have put in binders. It filled two bags, and my unit already is six feet tall. Man ... do I really have to do this?
I then thought I could bag them, then wait for a morning where I can quickly take them to the car, but I got stopped at the thought of throwing them on top of my tall pile of stuff. And then I tried stashing them back in my room, specifically my nightstand, but that got full really quick. I then realized that they were kind of perfect in the bookshelf in my former room which, for some fucking reason, has turned into My Fucking Mother's room she will use if/when she gets hip surgery.
I am scared that I will regret this, but I punted on my plan. What I wanted to do was a hell of a lot of work that I didn't think was worth it. So I kind of did half of my plan. I have put the binders for the six most-recent years in a drawer in my bedroom. The earliest binders I put back in the bookshelf, even though I made it nicer and put them behind a row of photo albums. That left two binders, and I think My Fucking Parents won't see that I put them in my nightstand. Over subsequent years -- if they don't fucking throw them away -- once I bundle the previous year's paper in a binder, I will put it in my drawer, then take the oldest one and put it in my nightstand. It's the best I am willing to do. And I hope to Buddha My Fucking Parents don't fuck with them.
And by the way, it may have taken me awhile to realize what else My Fucking Parents threw away. And I reserve the right to get pissed off later if I realize there are other things they've taken from me.
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