Memory lane is washed away
Cleaning out the garage turned out to be a mistake...
So, the time had come to finally clean out the garage, not only because the mess had become too much, but also because it appears I have a water leak coming from somewhere near the water heater. I tackled it last Sunday, and things were going well, until I got to the wet stuff.
As fall approaches, I tend to get a bit melancholy, for no apparent reason. The loss of summer, the impending holidays that are always the worst time of year for me, etc. So, I thought that a good fall cleaning would be a nice way to perk up, and get a sense of renewal and accomplishment. Right...
So, I start moving the wet stuff, thinking that none of the boxes that got wet would be anything important. I was wrong. The first box was filled with old porn magazines, all dry(of course). I was amazed to see them. They were ancient, some dating back to the mid-80s. I haven't bought porn on paper for ages, yet have no idea what to do with them. I don't want to throw them away, not just because I don't want my garbage man to see them, but because, hey, it's good porn, and good porn never goes "stale". The haircuts might be a bit dated, but the pictures and stories are as good as ever. There should be donation services for old porn, like there are for old clothes, where the magazines are recycled for shut-ins without access to the internet...
The second and third boxes were the real problems.
The second box contained toys and books from my childhood. Like, small childhood. The stuff in that box was about all I have left from when I was a little kid that wasn't previously destroyed by my stepfather. And here it was, mostly ruined from water damage. I salvaged what I could, including my very first lunch box from first grade, but all my "early reader"-type books, which I had managed to save over the years, were ruined. Needless to say, that just depressed me more.
But the third box...well, I'm a terrible packrat. I have magazines and newspapers going back years, for no real reason. This one was packed with mostly old ETC magazines from the early 90s. ETC, for those not from Atlanta, was a gay bar rag that came out weekly, and was the way most gay people managed to keep in touch with a lot of what was going on in the community. In addition to bar ads, it had community events and some great articles. As this was from the period where I was just a baby homo, and very involved in the gay community here in Atlanta (I was an "activist", God help me, in addition to being a bartender at a gay bar), I quickly found myself flipping through various copies.
The first thing I found was an article by a friend of mine. He had a long-running column in the magazine, essays on various topics of the day, stories from his life, that sort of thing. As a professional writer and therapist, this gig was hardly the highlight of his career. However, as I read some of them, I realized what great writing it was, and is, and recalled how much I used to delight in reading his column every time it came out. I even recalled some of the times and places I read them, and how they made me feel at the time, both good and bad. He always managed to evoke a very profound response from me with his words. I've occasionally threatened him by promising to revisit those old magazines and compile an anthology of his column, much to his horror. It never ceases to amaze me that a writer with so MUCH talent has never seemed to be aware of the quality of his writing.
The next thing I noticed was his picture. Damn, he was a hottie. I certainly didn't think so at the time, since he was far from my "type", but hey, tastes change. I was quite surprised.
Then I got to the back of the magazine. The obituaries.
Each week, for quite a number of years, I would flip to the back of ETC, to see who I knew that had died recently. There were a lot of them. People I was friends or acquaintances with, former tricks, customers at my bar. I was too young to know so many people that died. They were all too young to have died at all. The sheer volume of them shocked me.
Most were younger than I am now.
The pictures were just as bad. Pictures of happy people in bars and at events, having fun and smiling. People I used to know, who I haven't seen in years. Dead, moved on, whatever, people that are gone from my life, probably forever.
So, melancholy has turned into...something deeper. Not the black depression I have so often found myself in, but a distance from the world, and a desire to retreat and talk to no one. I have no interest in socializing right now, or even chatting with anyone online. I have no idea why, I just don't.
I am just sort of here...thinking...and feeling kind of sad, for all that I've lost or neglected over the years.
So, the time had come to finally clean out the garage, not only because the mess had become too much, but also because it appears I have a water leak coming from somewhere near the water heater. I tackled it last Sunday, and things were going well, until I got to the wet stuff.
As fall approaches, I tend to get a bit melancholy, for no apparent reason. The loss of summer, the impending holidays that are always the worst time of year for me, etc. So, I thought that a good fall cleaning would be a nice way to perk up, and get a sense of renewal and accomplishment. Right...
So, I start moving the wet stuff, thinking that none of the boxes that got wet would be anything important. I was wrong. The first box was filled with old porn magazines, all dry(of course). I was amazed to see them. They were ancient, some dating back to the mid-80s. I haven't bought porn on paper for ages, yet have no idea what to do with them. I don't want to throw them away, not just because I don't want my garbage man to see them, but because, hey, it's good porn, and good porn never goes "stale". The haircuts might be a bit dated, but the pictures and stories are as good as ever. There should be donation services for old porn, like there are for old clothes, where the magazines are recycled for shut-ins without access to the internet...
The second and third boxes were the real problems.
The second box contained toys and books from my childhood. Like, small childhood. The stuff in that box was about all I have left from when I was a little kid that wasn't previously destroyed by my stepfather. And here it was, mostly ruined from water damage. I salvaged what I could, including my very first lunch box from first grade, but all my "early reader"-type books, which I had managed to save over the years, were ruined. Needless to say, that just depressed me more.
But the third box...well, I'm a terrible packrat. I have magazines and newspapers going back years, for no real reason. This one was packed with mostly old ETC magazines from the early 90s. ETC, for those not from Atlanta, was a gay bar rag that came out weekly, and was the way most gay people managed to keep in touch with a lot of what was going on in the community. In addition to bar ads, it had community events and some great articles. As this was from the period where I was just a baby homo, and very involved in the gay community here in Atlanta (I was an "activist", God help me, in addition to being a bartender at a gay bar), I quickly found myself flipping through various copies.
The first thing I found was an article by a friend of mine. He had a long-running column in the magazine, essays on various topics of the day, stories from his life, that sort of thing. As a professional writer and therapist, this gig was hardly the highlight of his career. However, as I read some of them, I realized what great writing it was, and is, and recalled how much I used to delight in reading his column every time it came out. I even recalled some of the times and places I read them, and how they made me feel at the time, both good and bad. He always managed to evoke a very profound response from me with his words. I've occasionally threatened him by promising to revisit those old magazines and compile an anthology of his column, much to his horror. It never ceases to amaze me that a writer with so MUCH talent has never seemed to be aware of the quality of his writing.
The next thing I noticed was his picture. Damn, he was a hottie. I certainly didn't think so at the time, since he was far from my "type", but hey, tastes change. I was quite surprised.
Then I got to the back of the magazine. The obituaries.
Each week, for quite a number of years, I would flip to the back of ETC, to see who I knew that had died recently. There were a lot of them. People I was friends or acquaintances with, former tricks, customers at my bar. I was too young to know so many people that died. They were all too young to have died at all. The sheer volume of them shocked me.
Most were younger than I am now.
The pictures were just as bad. Pictures of happy people in bars and at events, having fun and smiling. People I used to know, who I haven't seen in years. Dead, moved on, whatever, people that are gone from my life, probably forever.
So, melancholy has turned into...something deeper. Not the black depression I have so often found myself in, but a distance from the world, and a desire to retreat and talk to no one. I have no interest in socializing right now, or even chatting with anyone online. I have no idea why, I just don't.
I am just sort of here...thinking...and feeling kind of sad, for all that I've lost or neglected over the years.