Sunday, July 26, 2009
1:03 PM
Move # 4 since last August; move # 12 in the last 4 years; exhausting, damaging, hurtful and destructive. I'm sitting on piles of boxes, clothes and memories trying to figure out what to keep what to throw away. Every time I move, I throw away part of my life. After all these years of moving, I'm running out of things in my life to throw away. Each random thing found is analyzed profoundly; its history is recalled in grand detail; its meaning is questioned; its presence in my boxes after so many years is respected; its fate is decided; it is carefully put back in its box. Till our next encounter, Memory, till my next move… You are my way of holding onto something real that supports the fragile idea of some vague memory from a distant past. You are my happy place to hide in by simply reaching for your box in my closet. You are me.
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