avoiding the quibble
What a disaster this place is.
Do I really pack the feather boa? My other sleeping bag -- perfectly serviceable but bulky compared to the new one? The perpetually tarnished penguin-shaped coffee urn? (I mean where will I find a penguin-shaped coffee urn again? Nevermind that I've never used it. I might.) The sketch a stranger in a bar drew me on a napkin? Sweet, yes, but the memory of its creation hanging by a pinky on the edge of some atrophied synapse.
Do I care?
Will I care? In a week? In a year? Ten? Will some imaginary daughter one day miss that which I'm giving away (throwing away) willy-nilly?
I don't think so, but one never knows. Regardless, right now, I'm half tempted to turn the key on this place with nothing under my arm but a box of pictures. I'm that over it.
While I quibble with myself, I'm avoiding myself by trolling blogs while I should be building boxes and making runs to donate shoes and sheets. And I came upon (came upon, as if I don't check her site seventeen times a day) this. Which reminded me. . .
Walking out of work the other day, I hunched my shoulders against the light rain that was falling. And then I remembered being a kid at camp, when rain meant mud and mud meant field game fun. When I not only held my head high despite the rain, but turned my face up into it and laughed for the sheer joy/life/mud of it. And as I tip-toed through the parking lot avoiding puddles, I realized I was going home, so who cared if I got a little wet? I straightened my shoulders and looked to the sky, reveling (thankfulling) in the small fact that I could feel it on my skin. Only sad that there wasn't mud to stomp, tromp, scoop and throw. No lake to jump into afterward, a big soapy bathtub. Bad for the environment maybe, but great for the soul.
Who needs thotchkes when there's rain as a reminder? Right?
Yeah, yeah, but what about that lamp I used to love so and now miss the point of? I mean, I do need light. Right? Right?
*sigh*
Do I really pack the feather boa? My other sleeping bag -- perfectly serviceable but bulky compared to the new one? The perpetually tarnished penguin-shaped coffee urn? (I mean where will I find a penguin-shaped coffee urn again? Nevermind that I've never used it. I might.) The sketch a stranger in a bar drew me on a napkin? Sweet, yes, but the memory of its creation hanging by a pinky on the edge of some atrophied synapse.
Do I care?
Will I care? In a week? In a year? Ten? Will some imaginary daughter one day miss that which I'm giving away (throwing away) willy-nilly?
I don't think so, but one never knows. Regardless, right now, I'm half tempted to turn the key on this place with nothing under my arm but a box of pictures. I'm that over it.
While I quibble with myself, I'm avoiding myself by trolling blogs while I should be building boxes and making runs to donate shoes and sheets. And I came upon (came upon, as if I don't check her site seventeen times a day) this. Which reminded me. . .
Walking out of work the other day, I hunched my shoulders against the light rain that was falling. And then I remembered being a kid at camp, when rain meant mud and mud meant field game fun. When I not only held my head high despite the rain, but turned my face up into it and laughed for the sheer joy/life/mud of it. And as I tip-toed through the parking lot avoiding puddles, I realized I was going home, so who cared if I got a little wet? I straightened my shoulders and looked to the sky, reveling (thankfulling) in the small fact that I could feel it on my skin. Only sad that there wasn't mud to stomp, tromp, scoop and throw. No lake to jump into afterward, a big soapy bathtub. Bad for the environment maybe, but great for the soul.
Who needs thotchkes when there's rain as a reminder? Right?
Yeah, yeah, but what about that lamp I used to love so and now miss the point of? I mean, I do need light. Right? Right?
*sigh*
posted by jill at 5/20/2006 02:56:00 PM
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