I don’t know why I keep everything … well, I do. Here’s a good walkthrough of my hoarding mentality. Note — I have no clue what band this was, or who I was with …
In some respects, I’m still the nerd I ever was. Carrying everything I think I might ever need with me. Camera, planner, a million pens, the pad of paper I’m writing on right now. Water, gum, a little sugar for that time when I’m caught and need the extra boost. A prayer journal, even though I don’t pray near as often as I need to. Glasses, in case I’m somewhere and find myself with fatigued/stressed eyes. Pocket BB, iPod, wallet. Aren’t these really life’s essentials?
No one ever carries a purse, much less a bag. If so, they are microbags by some designer with some macro price. It’s a habit phobia that’s been with me since I’ve had things to carry. No stability? Create my own. Be prepared. Create a situation I can control. Manage my own universe, albeit in a what ends up to be heavy, sometimes tiring, burdening way. But I can’t see that.
The freedom I see others experience — no bag, no storing of possessions — makes me uneasy, makes me nervous. What if? What then? And it’s with no small satisfaction that I am called upon for the rescue — the ibuprofen, gum, pen, paper — something to patch and fix, something to tidy up a situation and send it on its way. Sometimes, I am annoyed by feeling I am expected to have/know it all, but mostly I am proud and capable in the role of housemother.
But it doesn’t look too “cool” here in the basement of Double Door, sitting by myself as we all chase something. My friend, upstairs, chasing the hopes that something outside of her will give her the self-acceptance and love she so badly desires. My other acquaintance, already chasing the attention of new women after yet another romantic relationship fades into the distance; hoping that this will be the thing that will quell the ache that rises up in us all — that thing that can’t be filled by a person, place or thing.
And I’m down here, writing to an imaginary audience, hoping to make myself feel better about being down here alone, about having come here against my better instincts — to be cool and see a band my fellow bloggers raved about; to play savior and potentially rescue my friend from some unknown danger; to not take care of myself and take care of some things, get some rest. It’s all different shades of the same shit.
Right after that … this list, which I have no comprehension of.
news — women
human interest — nerds
someone else’s podcast
music/DJ — ok
humor — bees
sports — marathon?
christmas — computer
start listening to NPR.
OKAY, then ….