The Gaven

In the past, I used to keep a very detailed, very personal and private, handwritten journal. I had them in several books that I thought I’d keep forever. Then, one day a couple of weeks ago I was flipping through them and though, “Holy hell! There’s no way I want anyone to ever know that.”

I decided that shredding them wasn’t good enough. They had to be burned so no one would ever be able to put them back together. Yeah, I’m paranoid like that.

This morning, I set them on fire, one at a time, in the kitchen sink. They burned rather easily and the flames were quite high. It was a marvelous site to see and I should have taken pictures, but I was too enthralled with the flames licking the sky.

When I was finished with my pyromaniac episode, I dowsed the ashes with water and tossed everything in the garbage.

The problem with all this is that now my hair and my clothes smell like I’ve been hanging out with arsonists and the townhouse reeks of smoke. We opened every window in the house, turned on every fan, yet, 12 hours later there is still a hint of smoke in the air.

Yes, I’m an idiot. I should have burned the stuff outside. I probably also shouldn’t be so paranoid as to think anyone would want to read anything I’ve shredded. Lesson learned.