This post in an homage to “The Bloggess” a.k.a. Jenny Lawson. Those of you that know her, this needs no explanations. Those of you who don’t, look her up. I could say more about her, but I can’t. My blog doesn’t run with that kind of language. So this is really more inspired by Jenny.
I just found myself burning paper in my bathroom. In fact, there is a pretty strong smell in there right now. Of ashes. Who knew they could be so stinky? Reason for the need to burn paper? Well its complicated.
Step back a bit. Quite a bit, really.
For many, many years, I have carried around a notebook that contains all my passwords. Some important and some, who cares. But for the sake of being efficient, they were all in one place. My husband would become completely appalled each time we had a conversation about this. How could I be so irresponsible, what happens if, etc. And then some time would go by, nothing would change and I would be blissfully adding new passwords to my little book. Some were on post-it-notes, some had been changed many times, the book was in a bit of a mess.
Then, this week, I decided to get a password manager app. Almost seems more dangerous than carrying them around. For starters, I have no idea what level of encryption is good enough. iCloud back ups? Storage in Switzerland, my husband thought that one was crazy. Should you take the best free option, which makes you wonder how secure can a free app be? Or pay a subscription or a one time fee? The options are seriously endless.
So I did as much research as I could tolerate and picked a one time fee for under $20. I don’t know, I was making up the criteria for success as I went along. After a bunch of the data was entered, I ended up with the paper that contained all my precious passwords. What to do with it?
My husband thought I could cut it into tiny bits and put it in the recycling. But that didn’t seem grand enough. The sensitivity of it all, called for a more final disposal. I had mentioned burning to my husband and he scoffed at me. So while he was out of the house, I burned those wretched papers. But I did not expect such a strong smell of camp fire right there in the bathroom. Not sure if the fan is powerful enough to take that smell away before my husband gets home from the gym.
And when he asks, “what is that smell….have you been burning something in here?” I hope I will have thought up a response as clever, or crazy as Jenny would say to her husband.