There comes a moment in life when you pull open a drawer and discover a hoard of forgotten tech that would embarrass a museum. Mine involved a stack of DVD R discs, sitting there like relics from a time when the family computer wheezed louder than the dog and “buffering” was a normal evening activity.
I picked them up, stared at them, and asked the only sensible question. “Why the hell am I keeping these?” They have not been touched in ten years. I do not even own the contraption required to read them. Keeping them is like preserving a fax machine in case electronic mail turns out to be a fad.
There was a time when 4.7 gigabytes felt like a bottomless pit of digital possibility. Entire photo albums, films, ISO files, all squeezed onto a disc that scratched if you breathed on it. Now a single badly lit selfie takes up more space. Progress has marched on and left these shiny coasters in the dust.
Yet there they were. A dusty landmark reminding me that once upon a time, I believed I would watch that “Back up 2006” disc again. I really thought I would. I even labelled them with permanent marker to show I meant business. Now they might as well be hieroglyphs.
The absurdity is complete when you realise they are literally useless. Not “slightly obsolete”. Not “handy for emergencies”. No. Entirely, unequivocally, gloriously pointless. The only practical application remaining is hanging them from string to scare pigeons.
So the DVDs will go. They have reached the end of a journey that began with futuristic excitement and concludes as landfill. Their brief reign is over. Storage has ascended to the clouds. We have evolved.
Goodbye DVD R. You served a purpose once, probably. Now you are just shiny fossils that clunk when you shift the drawer.
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