Where to Hide the Bodies...

In trying to make room in my creative cave for a futon (I do need somewhere to do my thinking) I took to cleaning out stuff I hadn't seen in a long time. First I dumped the old or even semi-old paint, cleared out the misfit brushes, stained water cans, and all those things I cut out of magazines, printed off the net and random sketches of what I wanted to paint someday. Then I turned to that big bin under my work bench and found it was packed with pages of some really old stories. Some 400 pages or better, some shorts and some stuff I still have on my computer and work on occasionally. And even some written on a typewriter (am I dating myself here?) and in the computer paper with the holes on the side. There were a couple of note books with a hand written story that encompassed 3 books. I barely remember writing it. It was real hard to keep cleaning and not stop and read it all though. There were some poems I must have written at a really angry time, old love poems and then the usual weird stuff that pops out of my brain if I'm not on alert. It was really hard to let this stuff go. I know there's a few boxes in the attic and maybe one or two of those under the bed storage boxes under my bed with pages and pages of stories and that, realistically, I'll never do anything with. I'll never polish, publish or even read them but for some reason it's comforting to have them here. I think of them as a legacy of sorts. Maybe someday when I'm gone my kids will read these things and know a little bit more about what made me tick. That the woman who took care of them, raised them and set them loose on the world was a bit more than chief cook and bottle washer. But then again...maybe they shouldn't see too far into my mind...it might make them wonder about my sanity. So where do you keep your bodies? And why do you keep them?