Why won’t the 90s die?
A while ago, I found two boxes in the garage that was full of old bills and bank statements. It took me about a week or so to shred it all. In fact, it was in this post back in January that I blogged about saying goodbye to the 90s.
This weekend, while husband was in the garage repairing some sheetrock, I found yet another box full of bank statements and bills from 1995. I couldn’t believe it. Why won’t this crap go away? I thought for sure I had gotten rid of it all but now I have to shred another bag full of this stuff. It’s annoying. I’m annoyed with myself for keeping it all these years. What was the going in that? Why didn’t I get rid of it way back then? I don’t get it.
And the worst part is, I dislike revisiting these years. They weren’t exactly stellar. There were very few things in my life that were going right. Mostly, I was a train wreck. About the only good thing that DID come out of this decade was… well, it ended. And I met Voodoo, who eventually became my sister-in-law. Way back then, before the Interwebs, there were local BBSs. If you don’t know what that is, go look it up. If you do, read on. On this BBS, they had weekly get togethers (GTGs) every Thursday night. At that time, Voodoo was dating my brother, aka Gaffer. And I was Tankaray. We didn’t really know people by their real names. We were our handles. And then there were a group of us who played MajorMUD and we had a different name in the game (Velocity, Roderick and Poison, respectively). ANYWAY, back then, we’d stay up all night playing MUD. On Thursday nights, we’d hang at the bar. Voodoo and I would do shots (her drink of choice was Jagermeister and mine was tequila). We’d stay out super later, get smashed, and then go to work the next morning. On time.
How did we manage this? I have no idea. The thought of staying up past 11 pm makes me tired. Geeze, I’m old.
So that was my one bright spot in the dismal decade known as the 90s.
I’m mad I have to shred more of that stuff but I’m happy that it is, in fact, the final box. And once it’s done I will never have to see them again.
I also found a box full of Writer’s Digest Magazines dated from 2003 to 2006. I have every stinking issue. EVERY ONE! Since they’ve been in a box for seven years, it’s clear I have no use for them. I suppose I’ll be recycling them. It’s better than tossing them in the trash and letting them rot in some landfill. Maybe they’ll become toilet paper or something. I don’t know.
So how about you? Do you find things buried in the garage decades later?