I just walked to the Goodwill and bought the largest suitcase I could find. It's brown leather, weighs 50 pounds and is large enough for me to fit in. Still, it's not large enough to house all the possessions close to my heart. Four months ago, packed my apartment, my life into 7 trash bags, three suit cases and five crates; and now I must reduce those trash bags, suit cases and crates into one three foot by two foot square. Something I've learned, living with 7 people, is that people carry with them objects of absolutely no monetary value, but hold a story and therefor hold value. For instance, I have a ceramic dog I cannot part with.
I am hoping that as I continue to downsize my life and filter myself down to a suit case and down to my core that I will find substance. I don't know where I'll go, but I trust myself to figure it out. In the mean time I need to figure out how this ceramic dog is going to fit into this square.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
draft I guess
For Christmas my mother sent me a box containing, pajama pants, a bottle of vodka and a little over a dozen condoms. I understood the vodka, but asked her why she sent me condoms seeing as how I'm in a relationship with my future husband; "well, since Wain got his vasectomy, we don't use them anymore and I want you to be safe," she siad. "So you give me your leftover contraceptives, gross mom," I laughed into the phone. I had already drank the vodka before calling her and I missed her more during that conversation that I can ever remember missing her.
I opened Jen's Christmas package next. I did it slowly, tearing off the tape without pulling the wrapping paper off with it. In a box was, the Barbra Striesand box set of a life time which sent me spurting into tears as dramatically as someone opening a letter stating that their son was killed in combat. She also sent me a journal with which we have been sending back and fourth since. The contents of this journal expose the trembling fear and emptiness we feel in the absence of each-other in brave times. She moved to California and I moved to Chicago, both without each other's strength and being strong without her by my side is for some reason, the hardest thing I've ever done.
I've been getting a lot of packages in the mail lately. My mother sent me a box full of shit I had intentionally left in Kansas. For instance, a few of the things I pulled out were, a ceramic dog, a sweater that hasn't fit me in 16 years and a few collection bills I tried to forget about. Jen bought me the ceramic poodle on for my birthday last year. I was always jealous of her ceramic bloodhound that propped our bathroom door open. It was a jealousy that was never talked about but was known and I remember packing my things and holding the poodle for a few minutes knowing I couldn't take it with me but convincing myself I didn't really care about it anyway. When I opened the package and held the poodle again I laughed thinking how stupid it was that my mom sent it to me. I held it this morning and cried thinking of how happy I was that it was my new bedside companion.
Last night I opened yet another package from Jen, the return address was from California. A postcard housed her words, a necklace housed her love and a plastic container housed holy dirt from a church in Taos. The dirt is said to heal wounds and cure illness, so I placed it on my heart.
The new year has come and gone. Last new years Jen and I decided we would get smashed at the most trashy gay bar we could find. She got banged by a straight girl in the bar bathroom, kissed me at midnight and I went home with a rich man. It was one of the greatest new years I'd ever had. This year I was with Kevin on a roof top full of people counting down to fireworks and I got my first fireworks kiss.
I opened Jen's Christmas package next. I did it slowly, tearing off the tape without pulling the wrapping paper off with it. In a box was, the Barbra Striesand box set of a life time which sent me spurting into tears as dramatically as someone opening a letter stating that their son was killed in combat. She also sent me a journal with which we have been sending back and fourth since. The contents of this journal expose the trembling fear and emptiness we feel in the absence of each-other in brave times. She moved to California and I moved to Chicago, both without each other's strength and being strong without her by my side is for some reason, the hardest thing I've ever done.
I've been getting a lot of packages in the mail lately. My mother sent me a box full of shit I had intentionally left in Kansas. For instance, a few of the things I pulled out were, a ceramic dog, a sweater that hasn't fit me in 16 years and a few collection bills I tried to forget about. Jen bought me the ceramic poodle on for my birthday last year. I was always jealous of her ceramic bloodhound that propped our bathroom door open. It was a jealousy that was never talked about but was known and I remember packing my things and holding the poodle for a few minutes knowing I couldn't take it with me but convincing myself I didn't really care about it anyway. When I opened the package and held the poodle again I laughed thinking how stupid it was that my mom sent it to me. I held it this morning and cried thinking of how happy I was that it was my new bedside companion.
Last night I opened yet another package from Jen, the return address was from California. A postcard housed her words, a necklace housed her love and a plastic container housed holy dirt from a church in Taos. The dirt is said to heal wounds and cure illness, so I placed it on my heart.
The new year has come and gone. Last new years Jen and I decided we would get smashed at the most trashy gay bar we could find. She got banged by a straight girl in the bar bathroom, kissed me at midnight and I went home with a rich man. It was one of the greatest new years I'd ever had. This year I was with Kevin on a roof top full of people counting down to fireworks and I got my first fireworks kiss.
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