"Fucks are like crumpled old receipts hanging out at the bottom of your purse. They’re useless, they get in the way of whatever it is you really need. —like when you just want a bandaid or a piece of gum, and find yourself wading through a fathomless pit of old receipts/fucks—and yet you can’t let them go, because there’s a little seed of fear that you might need them one day. The old receipts. And the fucks. It’s easy to try and hoard paper records of things as it is to try measure every contingency for things you might do. What if I need this for my taxes? What if I need to return it? What if my blog isn’t ‘sponsor friendly’? What if I offend so-and-so? You can’t save it all, and you can’t make everybody happy."