Let me make a suggestion, best beloveds. Let me suggest that when you can't find your tambourine and you start digging the stuff out of your long closet of death, that when you find the tambourine, you stop digging. If you do not stop digging, you may think to yourself "Self, what do you have stored away in this closet?" and yourself might reply "Well, probably neat stuff. Yeah! I remember now! Neat Stuff!" and your two selves might start digging. Your two selves might find lots of bedding and good fabric, a bead curtain you're ashamed to admit you own, your apartment's original curtains, a roll of pink gingham wallpaper and a mysterious box you swear used to be important...
See, best beloved, this box is the one that will get you in trouble. This box has 5 old mix tapes that you know the order of by heart. This box has 200 letters that end in code words 'Cactus' 'Pickle' 'Snowcastle'. This box has photographs of you with long hair wearing gigantic pants you made yourself sitting in apartments that have no furniture -save an asteroid video table from the old godfathers pizza where scott worked- holding hands with the past you've conveniently tucked in a box the closet. And it's almost eerie, isn't it? Most of the time you can't even remember what he looks like and you're not sure you'd spot him in a crowd, but now you remember 3 years of driving out of state and long distance phone calls that you had to take on extra shifts at your crappy after school job to pay for and how he would turn on everything in the car when the ignition was off so that when you turned the key the AC would blast and the wipers would go like crazy and the radio would blare. Damn, that was funny.
And then, best beloved, after you've made the mistake of playing the tapes and reading the letters, and searching the pictures to try to figure out what the hell you were thinking, you will have to fetch that black curly wig you found in the closet and put it on with that blue bowling shirt from the bottom of the box of fabric. You'll have to color in your eyebrows with black eyeliner and give yourself a beauty mark over your lip and put on a pair of mens polyester slacks and tennis shoes and the fake pearls you keep behind your alarm clock. You'll have to buy a 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon at Safeway and pretend not to notice as the checkout girl eyes the curls bounding out from beneath your helmet. You'll have to ask your friends to call you Susan for the remainder of the evening as you try to avoid the problem by deciding that you are now a 42 year old Phisical Education Teacher who loves Bruce Springstien and Ladies night at the Bowl-O-Rama.
And that will work just fine.
Posted by Sonya at December 10, 2002 08:19 AMHmm.. now I feel like I found your box too. I think you have just been in a boxy type mood lately. So have I. That is why we are friends.
Posted by: Stacia at December 11, 2002 01:32 AMWeird. I found a bunch of letters from ScottK too. How's france? Send me a GD email once in a while why dontcha? fraaaaaaaaaannnnnnnccccce.
Posted by: sonya at December 11, 2002 08:22 AM