Maggie AstorCompte certifié

But it's a new course. It hasn't been taught at her school before. She's building the syllabus from scratch. And she seems to remember that I took a similar course in college. I don't still have the syllabus, do I? Or my notes? 3/

Well, Twitter, the thing about me is I keep everything. I still have every paper I wrote from middle school through college. I have my elementary school report cards. I have the drawings I did in kindergarten. 4/

I've been unhealthily encouraged in this habit by the existence of a large storage space above my closet. It can fit many boxes. If I don't have to pay for a storage unit, why not keep everything? Yes, I tell my friend confidently. I am quite sure I still have the syllabus. 5/

We finish dinner. I go home. I am very excited. I am about to be vindicated for 30 years of packratting. 6/

I walk into the apartment, immediately change into clothes I don't care about, get out the ladder, climb above the closet, and hoist myself into the storage space. I brush aside the dust and cobwebs and stare smugly at the neatly stacked plastic bins. 7/

It is a tight space. I have to twist and contort myself to move the boxes around. It is not comfortable. But it's going to be worth it. I start looking through the boxes. And looking, and looking, and looking. I am getting sweaty and irritable. 8/

The syllabus isn't there. None of my syllabi are there. My papers and assignments are there, but no syllabi and no class notes. Where the hell are they? 9/

And then I remembered. 10/