Thursday, August 08, 2002

Marc

Upon Further Investigation ... it has come to my attention that sleeping in a basement room filled with boxes upon boxes of one's old stuff is not the healthiest of climates. Picture me, all mad-scientist-like, combing through said boxes, finding things like notebooks, flipping through said notebooks, reading the really terrible poetry and sour attempts at song-writing contained therein all the while thinking 'my lucky me, oh my, oh me! thanks be that I've changed for the better!' Not only that, but I kept stumbling upon all these letters from old, old ex-girlfriends. Even some from one whose wedding I'll be attending within the next month and a half. Eerie. It's amazing how an old letter can take one right back to wherever that time and place was, and all those feelings rise up for a split second and you're not you for a moment, you're who you used to be, and ... I sometimes wish I would've thrown them all away but I'm also oddly glad that I didn't.

This is so strange being here sometimes. I still love this house, and the longer I'm away from my parents the more I figure out just how much I love them and how much they've sacrificed for me. But this room down here, it kills me in a way. There's a dresser in the corner that still has my old clothes in it. Clothes from junior high and before. We're talking whitey-tighties still tucked neatly away in the top droor.

My chronological layout for The Lord of the Rings II, the book I began writing in 1993 (I only know the date because I put it on all the documents), is stuffed away underneath my portfolio from my college speech class I took in 1997. My maps for my very own fantasy world, which my dad took to work and copied for me, are all piled in the armouir (or whatever you call it). And there are pictures everywhere. I've taken a baby picture of myself and tucked it away for safekeeping. It's obviously a Christmas photo, and I appear to be five or six, all decked out in my Dukes of Hazard pajamas with a vicious snarl on my face. I can't imagine what must've been going through my head at the time.

I didn't mean to write twice tonight, but I'm literally floored by all this junk down here that I've overlooked for so many years. I don't know if I should throw it out or if I should make sure it stays down here all safe and sound. I've always been a packrat, I just never knew how bad I was.

Que sirrah. Tomorrow: The First Dentist Appointment In Over Four Years. Get Well Soon cards will be greatly appreciated. Once again, goodnight.

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