As of yesterday, I had 55 in-progress messages in my "Drafts" folder on gmail. I know. Seriously. Wtf? In my defense, some of them–many of them–were just notes for later that I never got around to getting around to.
But some of them…
Oh, some of them were anything from snippets of shit nibbled off the webbertubes to pages–and I mean PAGES–of shit between me and the religious, me and myself, me and family, me and me (confused yet), or who the fuck knows what?
See, there was a time, not too long ago even, when I was dead-set on taking on bullshit (yes, even more than now). I was working less so had more time to have these conversations, often debates.
Then I got more work.
The conversations stagnated. Then stopped. I kept *meaning* to get back to them. Weeks went by. Then months. Then years.
And I can’t tell you how irritating it is to constantly see my "Drafts" box at 55. It’s just sneering at me, "Finish me, Anton. Do it."
So finally, yesterday, I thought I’d just take a look. I clicked on the first one.
"Why the fuck is this still here??"
I deleted it. Next one.
"Oh, yeah, that shit. I don’t give a fuck about that anymore."
That became the rule. If I didn’t care, no matter how long the particular draft was, delete.
I got rid of about 20. I know. Seriously? 35 more I *can’t* delete?
So I have no idea when I’ll ever get around to posting any of that stuff, but it’ll happen.