One is a recipe I will not cook. One is a flight I will not book. One is just the word "cordwood" that I looked up eleven days ago and now feel personally responsible for.
The rest are worse, because I don't remember opening them. They've just always been there, the way a smell settles into a room. I assume closing them now would be an admission that I was never going to get to them, and I'm not ready to admit that about cordwood specifically.
There's a kind of person who treats their tabs like a to-do list, and a kind of person who treats them like sediment. I used to think I was the first kind. I have made my peace with being the second kind, mostly because there's no third option and the alternative is despair.