I found some boxes of floppy disks when I was rummaging around the garage today. For heavens sake, more floppy disks. I thought I had purged them all.
It was a painful process, that purge. Floppy disks and old CDs and old computers that were such friends for so many years.
And books on programming them that will never be read again no matter how much I might wish otherwise. After having salvaged the aluminum shutters off the whole lot of them, I tossed them into the garbage and didn't look back.
Yet, today here were more, staring up at me from the bottom of a box, shaming me for my crime. New ones, even, stickerless floppies lined up in a row just as they had been when the box was first opened many years ago. They never got written, never got read, and now it was too late.
I stood there speechless, then shouted to Trudy, "There are more floppy disks in here."
I don't think she heard the anguish in my voice.
"I think these were yours," I said.
And that made it easier what I had to do next.
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