I do triage on everything that comes through the door, and if it's not something we need (now, for real-not maybe someday) or something that deserves to be saved for posterity, it's discarded. I stop before I let myself drop something into a drawer or set it down on the piano. 'Where does it belong?' I think. If I don't have a place for it, I make a place.
She had not made a decision to give up sex, only the clamor of romance, because it was exhausting her, doing her no good and too much harm.
