The ”Important” binder

Ever since I left home 23 years ago, I have kept a ring binder in my bookshelf with “Important” written on the spine. In it I have kept insurance papers, pension papers, bank statements, employment contracts, etc. Not a thing about my travels, my loves, my prides and joys, my secrets and dreams. That stuff has been spread all over the place.

Lately, though, that binder has started to annoy me. “Important”? These papers from strangers are what I have considered important in my life? I can’t even make sense of most of the damn things.

In short, I feel a bonfire coming on. After 23 years indoors, the fucker should make perfect kindling.