Shredder

We bought a brand new shredder recently. (It's funny, the sounds in that word are so fitting for what it does...its low hum when you turn it on, like breath between the teeth, its crackling that punches the air like a consonant.) It was the cheapest one on the shelf (we aren't really people to spend a lot on electronics), but it's still sleek in its simplicity, black and silver with the product name written in a sans serif, all caps font, angular and sparse, to remind you that the future is here, man, and that future is sitting next to your Macbook and ready to erase your former, paper-bound identity about four sheets at a time, staples included. We started with old bank statements, old checkbooks, bank cards that were expiring, but I've since gone a bit shredder-happy. Old student papers from when I taught? Let's just see how she handles these. Printed-out e-mails? Not so confidential? They're e-mails, still: Give her a go at 'em. The bibliography of some research article from graduate school? So what if it's not personal. Let her rip. Scrap paper with tiny doodles in the corner? Better not risk it...turn her on and watch her go. Not sure what happened to my sensible head and my determination to save any paper that might be used again, that I could give new life to by writing or printing on the back of. The whirl of those teeth is just calling a bit too loudly.