like an archaeologist i keep digging through the strata in my life. however, unlike the archaeologist, the longer i dig the newer stuff i find. the old stuff i attack first, that’s easier. so long removed it’s hard to feel anything but warm nostalgia. but i realized everything from 1995 to the present can still be a little painful.
the doc marten box on the bottom shelf of the bookcase in the dining room cum office looked innocent enough. since i had just cleaned out an old pencil box (consisting of a rusty tape measure, three purple crayons, a Ziggy bookmark, and a red dart), i attacked it without a moment’s hesitation.
that box should have some sort of mr. yuk or toxic waste sticker on it. it was my own personal pandora’s box. i opened that lid and every man who has plagued me for the past ten years came flying out. i sat on the floor reading through letters that Todd [one that was so far removed, i don’t think i ever even mentioned him here on iwilldare.com] had sent me back in 1997, there were cards from the outlaw, a letter from ben jones — even a valentine from the TTHM.
i started with the letters from Todd. i read through them, my eyes stinging, laughing at the insidiousness of his sentiments. the i will love you forevers, the you are the only for mes, blech. reading them i felt so stupid. there was no fondness there. so i tossed them. and i went through all the letters in there using the same litmus test. no fondness — they got dumped. if there was still fondness, they were kept. ben jones and the TTHM made the cut. the outlaw and Todd did not.
what’s the most disturbing, perhaps, is the number of letters in that box from people who i cannot remember. not for the life of me. that makes me sad. because either i’m a heartless bitch or i have alzheimers.