//////////sssssssssssshhhhhhhh.................

Friday, August 5, 2005

House Cleaning

I was cleaning out my room today and I eureka'd many curious artifacts. Tokens of lost love; Disciplinary letters from Morford; baseball awards and swimming ribbons; video games, legos, junk, action figures. Naturally, I was nostalgic. How can one avoid romancing when he comes upon pictures of a dead girl, love letters, gorgeous doodles by his own hand, or papers graded by ghosts? And I realized that I've been spending as long as I can remember posturing, pretending to be wise, cool, a great writer, a basketball star. As far as I can tell, I never passed age 7 in anything except mathematical ability. I still eat potato chips dipped in ketchup, I still dance to Michael Jackson in my room, I still tell myself stories about being in love. It sounds like some kind of houswifed Hallmark sagacity, but I don't mean it that way. The feeling seems profound to me, but I suppose I've heard this kind of junk recited in dozens of shitty movies.

I don't really know what this all means, or why I am writing about it, but it seems important. Like the beginning of something new - is this the final ridge of which reverent Indians speak? Whatever it is, it might add up to something eventually, so I'm just going to go with it.

MYW at 7:28 PM

4comments

4 Comments

at August 5, 2005 at 10:27 PM  Anonymous said...

This deserves response and recognition, but there just doesn't seem to be anything to say. It makes you nod in agreement as you think how it all applies to you...

 

at August 7, 2005 at 8:10 PM  Anonymous said...

I'm sick of comments.

 

at August 8, 2005 at 1:18 PM  Anonymous said...

like sex and money, comments only seem important when you don't have any.

 

at April 8, 2006 at 12:48 PM  Anonymous said...

Well said on all fronts.
Also, who is the dead girl?