Ends and beginnings
A lethal combination of guilt, parental nagging, seizures of boredom, bad weather, parents being out of the country, and a general all-round horror at not being able to see my floor, manifested itself today in an overwhelming compulsion to clean out my room. And so I did. I now have four plastic bags full of paper from two years of A-level work, notes, and flotsam and jetsam accumulated from two years of not having time to clean out my room, due to aforementioned A-level work and notes. And that was just off my table and cabinet. I haven't even touched the cupboards yet.
Nevertheless, it was a poignant moment indeed when I noticed that one of the papers sticking out of a plastic bag (filled to bursting) had a large bold title that read "Ends and Beginnings". How appropriate.
And so it shall be that tonight, there will be a small, modest little ritual fire somewhere in my neighbourhood, fuelled by memories of the Russian and French Revolutions, by recollections of the Cold War, by fond reminiscing of Theory of the Firm and Monetary and Fiscal Policy...but primarily, of course, by two years of written work on all of the above. And then some.
I will probably regret this in the years to come, when I suddenly discover e.g. that the Cold War is on my course options in university, and that the thick wad of painstakingly-compiled A-Level history notes that would be oh-so-useful during the course are currently blithely decomposing in a little hole somewhere in Petaling Jaya, Malaysia. Oh well. It must be done.