I don't save things.
My wife saves stuff. She’s very organized, so if you want a piece of correspondence from the bank from ten years ago, she probably has it filed somewhere for easy access. Over the years, I’ve come to rely on her for that level of preservation because my instinct is to throw everything away.
The instinct carries over to my work. I don’t save things. When I’m done with them for whatever reason, they get round-filed, and that’s the end of it. I’ve tossed entire published or unpublished manuscripts simply because I didn’t want to be bothered with them anymore. I don’t even care if the things I toss involve countless hours of effort. I don’t like having scads of things lying around, physically or digitally.
Occasionally, I’ll think of something I wrote once and wish I’d kept it, but this happens so rarely that I tend to dismiss the thought and move on. At those times when I can’t put it out of my mind, I go to my wife, and almost invariably, she has a copy.
She reads everything I write and, as is her wont, saves it. Sometimes, she saves stuff I wish would vanish down the memory hole, but most of the time, her instinct to preserve has been positive. I even published something she retrieved one time, so I get the value of hanging on to stuff, but I still don’t do it. I probably never will.