AbsurdBeats

Dammit.

Where are my grad files?

I was going to write a post wherein I quoted something from a paper I wrote on Habermas, but when I went a-hunting for that paper, I found nothin’.

Nothin’.

Yes, I’ve tossed out a lot of files since I moved into lovely Prospect-Lefferts Garden, so it is just barely possible that in the frenzy—well, okay, not frenzy, but maybe in my zeal to unburden myself—I pitched all of my Minnesota papers, but I doubt it.

I mean, I still have the files from my undergrad years, so it is highly unlikely that I would have been cavalier toward my grad work.

Almost everything that I did recycle was stuff that could be replaced, namely, scholarly articles; the rest was meaningless.

As much as I didn’t like like grad school, I don’t consider the work I did without meaning, and I can’t see myself getting rid of work that helped me to form my thinking. An article copied from Political Theory can be called up online; the papers I wrote in the class on Marx cannot.

SO WHERE ARE THEY?

It could be at my parents’ house, in the attic, but why would I leave my grad work in the attic and haul the box of undegrad work to Brooklyn? It’s not that everything I do makes sense, but that makes more non-sense than, well, hauling a box of undergrad papers to Brooklyn.

I’ve searched in the usual places and a few of the unusual. There’s are a limited number of places those files could be; perhaps I’ll find them stuffed in some suitcase in my coat closet, or hidden beneath something I’ve already checked, I dunno.

But they’d better be there, somewhere. Dammit.