As I've had occasion to note in this Far Place, I get an odd sort of pleasure from cleaning stuff - like my bookshelves. It occurred to me just now that I might also confess to a distinct frisson when deleting documents from my desktop or various folders that are no longer useful. I'm not sure what this says about my character but I suspect it would not be at all flattering.
I'm not sure as to how much genuine self-knowledge I've attained over the decades, but the little bits I do know are quite enough to be going on with for now.
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