i hoard things. it makes me feel comfortable and safe. it makes moving a bitch. so it makes me uncomfortable in a lot of ways. it weighs me down. i have a lot of favorite things. i love them and they make me feel good. they also give me anxiety when i think of losing them. however, some of these things i will also go months without ever thinking about until i see them again and then i think, ‘oh, i could NEVER get rid of that.’
i got an email from my old sponsor who lives in L.A. the other day after a long time of not really connecting and she encouraged me to get rid of old things i no longer needed, to get rid of tatty clothes(1), and things that no longer fit, and things that i am keeping “just in case.” i was completely caught up in the email (that i was reading on my phone), but it was at that point i started completely sobbing, for i knew that it was god speaking to me loud and clear. SO loud and clear.
i started to my closet and grabbed things … there were some vagaries, but there were some very specific items that i had been moving around for years with just that very mindset looming in my brain. the other day, i was in the kitchen, and i had one of my FAVORITE glasses in the sink. it’s a lovely dark green rolling rock pint glass. my dear friend jen’s now husband gave it to me after we stopped living together (yeah, that’s a weird sentence). i’ve cherished it as a keepsake of a weird and strange time in my life. but much like a tattoo always marks a time in your life(2), so did the rolling rock glass. not to mention i love pint glasses.
we have this old ass sink. it’s this hard, white metal. but the other day, the rolling rock glass just tipped over. tip. clink. break. it broke at the top, into about three pieces. i was bummed. but i just picked the three pieces up, threw them into the glass and threw the glass into the garbage, and moved on. i used to hate when this guy my freshman year in college would say “acknowledge and move on.” but that’s exactly what i did. and it seemed like another piece of my past was molted off me. i don’t know what’s happening exactly, but i’m changing again. and it’s weird.
1 — like, oh, i don’t know … the old black skirt that i bought at walmart senior year for $10 that now has three small cigarette burn holes from the time jen and i were driving (i was at the wheel) and my cherry fell off into my lap and jen made a valiant effort to quickly slap the cherry off my lap without grinding the cherry into my leg or setting the very flammable cheap ass polyester on fire?
2 — that was such a strange time. i did e for the first time in that house. it was the smallest town i lived in since i left home. i have this distinct memory of this one day that was so hot that it didn’t matter if you were outside or inside. we had people over, and i just remember moving from one place to the other. outside, inside. inside, outside. i remember doing e or tripping one night and my friend, jeff, was over and it was time to go to bed, and we were in my bedroom and i had all these books in my room — leftovers from my crown books days, and one of them was this biography about montel williams, and this was hysterical to us (this was probably pre-MS days). the other was this kids’ book called ‘bunnicula.’ we literally laughed about that for an hour straight.