I am feeling better already, but home today once again.
Tomorrow night, we think we are going to paint the spare bedroom. This involves getting everything out of the spare bedroom, which means that I am trying to do so. There are a lot of things in the spare bedroom, which has been used as storage, and some of them belong to ecchikun and I don't quite know if some boxes are important or fragile and so I plan to work around them until he wakes up and can tell me.
This leaves me with a chance to go through my old things with a new and ruthless hand. I have carted out to the garage already a trash bag, kitchen-sized, filled with memories and cards and addresses of people that I once knew. There are notes, e-mail notes, whispering that I do not wish to lose touch with you, signed with names I no longer remember. Books of addresses, books ten years old, fifteen. We have grown up, moved out, found jobs. I saved the cards from when I had mono my sophomore year of high school. I threw out the middle-school address book. I threw out notes from ex-boyfriends. I saved pwwka's pencil sketches. I kept poetry, including a piece by Weid, who is listening out there somewhere perhaps. I kept all of my notebooks, but I threw out old school notebooks, if a sort through them did not find any new writings.
And I am immersed, O Best Beloved, in my past, in the girl-who-was. I have found one poem that somehow escaped my notice for six years. I am reading old letters. And I wonder, if I-who-was met the myself-of-now -
what would she think?