cleaning house.
so, i'm home now, in my parents' house. tonight we went to red lobster, which was especially depressing because they had the lobster tank in the center of the waiting area. not only did i have to go to red lobster, but i had to stare at their sad, insect-like faces, knowing that they were going to eventually be boiled alive until their protective shells turned bright red. i was trying not to bum my family out, but i couldn't stop making sad faces.
my parents completely cleaned out and changed the furniture in my room. it now looks like i am staying in a hotel or a bed and breakfast. i am also using/sleeping on their old furniture, which is sort of strange but kind of comforting in a way.
they moved and packed up all of my stuff to make way for the new carpeting they had installed. my goal is to return to pittsburgh with one tupperware tote, but that is starting to seem more and more unrealistic. i have so much stuff here.
a lot of the stuff i am keeping, i am wondering "why am i keeping this?" do i really care about the shirt from when i played on a basketball team in the 4th grade and my dad coached it? do i care about a the note tommy l. wrote me in the 9th grade to tell me that he liked me too, but he couldn't "go out" with anyone because he was moving in the next year, despite the fact that our families were best friends and we (our families) ended up visiting each other several times over the next two years? do i need simpsons pez dispensers or felix the cat shoe laces or ticket stubs from every austin powers movie or the "anti-suicide" note i wrote in the 8th grade, swearing that i "would not end my life by my own hand until jeff ***** went out with me?" (which, this "contract" gets even more ridiculous as it goes on and my friend signed it as a witness)? no, i don't need any of these things-- except maybe that contract, because it's pretty fucking funny...i was really dramatic in middle school.
i have been repeating the same thing over and over in my head again, but i'm starting to think that it's not repeating itself, i am repeating it, intentionally. "i need these things to prove that i exist. i am holding on to this stuff because i have moved around so much that i can't even remember half of my life without being prompted by some trivial thing."
i used to document everything. i would write everything down. i have so many thoughtbooks that are brimming over with whatever i felt was important at the time (mostly crush/boy stuff).
it's stressful. actually, it's more than stressful. at the same time, it's empowering and scary. if these posessions are prompting the majority of my memories about that event, time, thing, place, etc, then i have the power to condense and even-- edit my history. for some reason, i printed out all of the e-mail exchanges from my major high school relationships. all of the big ones. the "we went too far last night"'s and the "i think i am falling for you"'s, the "why has our friendship gone sour"'s and of course the "can we still be friends?"'s. i found a giant stack of these notes in my closet. i wonder if my parents saw them and read them, or if they just piled them up. i can throw out the ones that remind me that i was a bad friend to some people, or, i could not. maybe i need to remember. perhaps i should b reminded from time to time so i won't forget to share in the blame. there used to be love-- a lot of it. maybe i need this.
i don't know how much can be parted with. what parts of me are going to disapear?
my parents completely cleaned out and changed the furniture in my room. it now looks like i am staying in a hotel or a bed and breakfast. i am also using/sleeping on their old furniture, which is sort of strange but kind of comforting in a way.
they moved and packed up all of my stuff to make way for the new carpeting they had installed. my goal is to return to pittsburgh with one tupperware tote, but that is starting to seem more and more unrealistic. i have so much stuff here.
a lot of the stuff i am keeping, i am wondering "why am i keeping this?" do i really care about the shirt from when i played on a basketball team in the 4th grade and my dad coached it? do i care about a the note tommy l. wrote me in the 9th grade to tell me that he liked me too, but he couldn't "go out" with anyone because he was moving in the next year, despite the fact that our families were best friends and we (our families) ended up visiting each other several times over the next two years? do i need simpsons pez dispensers or felix the cat shoe laces or ticket stubs from every austin powers movie or the "anti-suicide" note i wrote in the 8th grade, swearing that i "would not end my life by my own hand until jeff ***** went out with me?" (which, this "contract" gets even more ridiculous as it goes on and my friend signed it as a witness)? no, i don't need any of these things-- except maybe that contract, because it's pretty fucking funny...i was really dramatic in middle school.
i have been repeating the same thing over and over in my head again, but i'm starting to think that it's not repeating itself, i am repeating it, intentionally. "i need these things to prove that i exist. i am holding on to this stuff because i have moved around so much that i can't even remember half of my life without being prompted by some trivial thing."
i used to document everything. i would write everything down. i have so many thoughtbooks that are brimming over with whatever i felt was important at the time (mostly crush/boy stuff).
it's stressful. actually, it's more than stressful. at the same time, it's empowering and scary. if these posessions are prompting the majority of my memories about that event, time, thing, place, etc, then i have the power to condense and even-- edit my history. for some reason, i printed out all of the e-mail exchanges from my major high school relationships. all of the big ones. the "we went too far last night"'s and the "i think i am falling for you"'s, the "why has our friendship gone sour"'s and of course the "can we still be friends?"'s. i found a giant stack of these notes in my closet. i wonder if my parents saw them and read them, or if they just piled them up. i can throw out the ones that remind me that i was a bad friend to some people, or, i could not. maybe i need to remember. perhaps i should b reminded from time to time so i won't forget to share in the blame. there used to be love-- a lot of it. maybe i need this.
i don't know how much can be parted with. what parts of me are going to disapear?