I sometimes think I have a problem holding onto things. Lately I am battered by memories of things I just wish I had appreciated at the time. The typewriter my Dad gave me (which I traded in for a Word Processor--I wish I was kidding). The bicycle I never quite rode. The phone I have had for a few years and am now, so desperate, to trade up. I know my memories do not exist in these things. They do not exist in the plastic exteriors or in the little, tiny machines that turn them so seamlessly. Rather, these memories exist in my heart--a heart I will (hopefully) never (need to) trade in. But losing these things--well, it worries me. They act as staples to moments I will never get back.
And that, right there, is a pausing thought.