under my bed is a small cardboard box filled to the brim with journals. i've kept every one that i've written in, every single page, since i was 8 years old. however, i keep thinking that i really don't want some future (or present) generation to find them and read how stupid i was growing up. and a lot of it details relationships that i am no longer in and no longer care about, so i never read them, either.
i keep getting random urges to clean out my childhood from my bedroom. hopefully i will be moving on soon (not that i absolutely hate living at home, because i don't, i am just really excited about the prospect of having a larger room, a larger bed, a personal bathroom, and all the decorating possibilities i can dream of). but i don't want to have to carry all of the stuff that is in my room right now with me for the rest of my life.
so, i think i may have a mini-bonfire soon. with the pages of all my old journals. my written history, reduced to ashes in my yard.