I deleted 1024 text messages from my phone this morning.

This was a minute job that I had been avoiding for quite a while. Not because I am unable to use my hands or because I don’t know how to do it. Every time my phone took 5 million hours to load a photo or refused to take a picture for lack of memory, I knew some deleting was in order.

I know I’m crazy as a coconut, but I just could never do it. Each of those little texts was a pocket of a memory. A reference to a long forgotten in-joke, a reminder of why I dated that guy, a reminder of why I dumped that guy, late night mini conversations from friends continued in a sleepy haze and bland reminders about appointments kept.

I’ m one for hanging on. I hoard organisers from high school and university (there’s something blissful about realising that on this day in 2001, an English essay was due…) Hidden in the depths of cardboard boxes, deep in storage is a tiny sparkling bucket of erasers my Dad bought me when I was home sick from school in Grade 1. I constantly refer to the past for tips about the future.

But this is a new year. Some say a new decade. So, I’m resolving that the only object jammed up with memory will be my head. It’s a new day, I have an empty inbox and I feel good.

Advertisements