I don't know
If somebody offered you $400 to clean your room, would you do it? Of course you would.
That is where I am. All I need to do is finish cleaning this room, and I can rent it out. Start pulling in some cash to blow on the weekends.
But I can't seem to do it, because of the box.
The box sits there. I can't seem to sort through it, to throw it away. In its present form it is just clutter: faded papers from days long gone.
If I knew what it contained, it would be easier to discard it. It is because I don't remember that I can't throw it away.
How did I get to be this person? Obsessive, anhedonistic, funny and sad. There must have been a continuum of changes, adiabatic processes, acretions of the soul. But I don't remember what they are, or how I got here, or what I used to be. I remember the facts, but, not the important feelings.
There might be some clue to who I am in the faded papers in the box.
posted by Mike @ 11:01 PM
1 Comments:
My box has taken care of itself. The weight this box held over my life hardly mirrors yours, but it has sat in my garage, on the shelf dedicated to All Things Automobile for a decade. Yesterday I pulled it down looking for my little air compressor (spare was flatm dangit) and noticed that a mouse or a colony of mice had mulched all the papers in there to make their happy home. Freedom! Joy! Unfortunately, as I started to pull out the few non-mulchable items I realized that these shreds were all my photographs from the Old Days, including an award-winning shot, a hand-tinted b&W 8x10 of a dashing lad in a pink bowtie, posing in front of a nice old Volvo. It now exists in my mind & heart, and the shelf is happy to house only ethyl glycol and oil filters.
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