useless stuff

Some of us are horders, we like to collect and keep things like old birthday cards, souvenirs and too-small-clothing that we swear we'd work towards by signing up for the gym and stuff. Like magpies. I know some friends who horde their old university notes and essays, others that store mounds upon mounds of photographs in little shoe boxes- forever swearing to sort through them. Then there are others who have stacks and stacks of CDs (some even, alphabeticised) and the list continues.

Over the last few years, I've pretty much trained myself to not get sentimental about these things: I've cleaned my mountain of old mail/cards/letters, my old clothes (its all very streamlined now) and even all the knick knacks that I've gathered over the years. But its been hard of getting a grip on "useless friends." You know the types: the kind that you can never count on to get your back, to be there, to at critical junctures put you first. There's always the fervent promises, the guarantees and the apologies; there's always the swearing that they'd make an effort and that they understand. And there's always that oh-so-faint glimmer of hope that they'd clean up and make good on their pretty words... but they'd be weighed and they'd be measured and they are always found wanting.

And then, once we cannot find anymore good reason, once the proverbial straw breaks the camel's back, its a bit too late to make amends. After all, all they can offer are facnciful thoughts and pretty words. Those are just no longer enough.

Because your heart is tired. From wanting to believe and from always being disappointed.