forthebook's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- unpacking Today I unpacked and sorted more of my things that have been sitting since the move: all of those unnecessary things that I've just toted with me place to place. I don't use them. I rarely look through them. But at this point it seems weird to toss them since I've kept them for so long. I have an old box of letters and things I accumulated in high school -- embarrassing notes that were passed between classes and document old crushes and thoughts about daily life in middle and high school. They're filled with purposeful misspellings and teenage angst circa 1997-2001. It's crazy really. The last time I sorted through it was for our 10-year reunion. It was actually helpful then. I pulled my old sports letters and diploma and even had a copy of our graduation that we ended up looping on the TVs in the bar. Outside of an actual event though -- and especially in the light of my breakup and the weird way I tend to glance backward over my shoulder during these times instead of looking ahead -- I'm afraid to look through it. I'm afraid what kind of weird FOMO or psudo-nostalgia will arise. I talk about it that way because it never results in anything good. It never results in anything real. It's not real. It's just me being more and more afraid that I'm never going to be able to find anything in life that I can double down on and really commit to in life. I've always wanted to do two things with this blog (well, A blog ... but I think no one checks here anymore and I am terrible at coming up with usernames): write the entire history of all of those boys and men who have touched my life in an honest way and -- maybe connected to this -- put that goddamn ipod I still have and still miraculously works on shuffle and write about the songs that speak to me. Those moments that are tied to the songs on that thing are really what shaped me so much in my 20s. As a tangent to that thought, in one of the boxes G brought over was a small jewelry box that I didn't even know I still had. The box itself was from Aunty F so I'm glad it was still there. She bought us a lot of weird stuff over the years that child-me did not appreciate and lost many pieces, but, now that she's gone, I cling to every single trinket I can. Anyway, in there were two distinct pieces of jewelry I kept from past relationships. It is a little ironic because I don't wear jewelry and I never have and more recent boyfriends have known better than do waste their time and money on this kind of thing. Or maybe it's just indicative of how little these boyfriends knew me at the time and just went ahead and bought things that they thought I should have -- also very indicative of how those relationships were in general, I guess. The first was that goddamn ring that D bought for me. I tried it on, as I always do when it shows up randomly. He gave it to me in ... 2002? 2003? When we made our real big, real break. It's a simple white gold band with small raised notes around the stone, which I like to think isn't a real diamond, but suspect is. It's plain and clean and unassuming. I hate that it still fits me. I hate that it is still pretty much the kind of ring I would actually want for myself if I wanted a ring. I hate that he knew me so well even though he also knew that I wouldn't want to wear a ring. In the past I would wear it when I was sad and think about what he told me when he insisted I take it, that I should keep it as a reminder of how someone had loved me for all those years. I'm not sure why I keep it. Maybe it seems weird to toss it? Maybe it seems like a simple way to hold onto that really complicated part of my life? The second was an infinity-shaped pendant from Tiffany's that R gave to me. I think that one especially really speaks to how little he knew or understood or cared to do either about me. I'm not and never was into brands like that. I don't like jewelry. I remember throwing that fucking thing across parking lots when we were in drunken fights. It was such a slap in the face that he chose something to represent forever when every single time all I could see was us ending over and over again. I'm not sure why I have such a fascination with and tendency to cling to the past like this. Nothing good comes of it. Nothing except old, hurt feelings and drunken acting out anyway. 8:05 p.m. - 2019-01-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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