Is it odd that i'm emotionally attached to a jumprope?

I've had it since I was 17. A lot of memories of trying to get in shape by jumping relentlessly in my parents' yard...at night, of course...never when the neighbors could gawk. Even then I detested surveillance. I'm not quite sure why I thought jumping rope would BULK UP my 145-pound self. Well, perhaps it helped develop my oft-admired calves. For whatever reason, I jumped rope a lot. And this past Christmas, I finally got a new one. A sleek, black "speedrope." Much more hip than the fraying brown, shoelace-esque thing I had...that's actually been tied together for maybe, oh, 10 years? The rain weared it down so much that it broke in two, so I just tied it together and it's stayed fine ever since. I really AM all set for a stint in Appalachia.

So I finally am tidying up my life and actually OPENED the new jumprope...so let's throw out the old one, right? Well, I got to the garbage can...and couldn't throw it in. Is that absurd? That perfectly demonstrates the level of sentimentality I attach to EVERYthing. HOW could I so cavalierly toss this remnant of my past into the trash?! I will. I WILL toss it...just need a bit more time with it. HAHAHA, I sound like a loon. Yes, I'll gently fondle my jumprope...drape it around my neck, hold it close to me, while rocking back and forth on the floor in a corner, summoning up ALL those teenage and early 20s places I pounded that rope. No, really, that IS an option that would provide sufficient closure...