Reluctance to throw useless things away has at least one benefit: After a sufficient passage of time, they become historical artifacts.
I still have 14 single-spaced typewritten pages chronicling the first five months of flying my first homebuilt, Melmoth, in 1973-74. The document, now slightly frayed but bidding fair to defy the silverfish for another century or two, ends with the admission that “it is getting tedious and pointless to record all these trivia.” Rereading it today, I came to the same conclusion well before the final page.
