I'm a hoarder

I've known it for a while, but going through the mountains of junk in my room at my parents' house (I've barely made a dent), I'm only reminded that I really am a hoarder. I'm willing to defend the stacks of magazines that I use for art projects, but I don't know why I still have all of my music (flute parts only, mind you) from All-Region concerts or spirals filled with notes with my friends and physics problems. Don't worry; I'm throwing them out.

But I always find some interesting, nostalgic things.

I found this in the back of one of the spiral notebooks. I think it's how I imagined myself during my senior year of high school (in a heavy-handed, idealistic sort of way).
"She's simple. Short hair, dyed perhaps, for flavor. No make-up save some chapstick and occasionally a stroke of mascara. She has a smile filled with secrets that could never be spoken and you can hear her laughter in her eyes before it escapes her mouth. She is a subtle beauty. A snowflake to a doily, she does not grab attention. But upon examination, it can be seen that her beauty is not unlike that of the doily, perhaps even more lovely because it is alone in its design, not purchased in plastic wrappers or mass produced for romantic effects. She is a rare occurrence, often missed by those too busy to look, those too consumed by their search for the wrong thing, the obvious thing."

Now I'm hoping I can find something more useful and less embarrassing, like money.