I have a tendency to save everything: cards and books and jackets that fit sort of strangely but that I might one day discover are perfect, useful, irreplaceable. As if  I’m afraid I might alter some killer memory just by getting rid of its evidence.

I also believe there’s nothing quite like throwing things away—and it’s best if you can shred or break those things before you finally sweep them into the recycle bin. It was easy when I lived in Philly and had an overgrown backyard, an alleyway, and an unending supply of empty wine bottles. But destroying things can take less formulaic paths, as I’ve discovered lately. Read more »