Houseguests: the Aftermath

After two weeks in a row of houseguests, things have finally calmed down. I can get caught up on the grading (Hint: I have a midterm in my totebag!), wash all the dishes, and start sorting through the box of crap all my old stuff that my parents brought with them.

This box includes nearly every photograph that I took (or that was taken of me) in the early 90s.


The ones that I took fall into two categories: science pictures (keep) and crappy pictures from summer camp (discard, all of them).

The pictures of me? I think I'll hang onto the prom pictures, maybe a few of the others. But in the end, it isn't really my decision to make. I am horrible about losing photographs. Unlike the natural disaster stereotype, I wouldn't be all that upset about losing the family photos; I do it all the time just in the course of my everyday life. In the past year I have lost all the pictures of my goldfish as well as the picture of me standing beneath a sign for a street with my (last) name. I figure that this new cache of pictures will eventually make their way to the mysterious place where all my photographs disappear to.