Sponsor me in the 2005 MS Walk! Why? Read here.
Busy Monday morning. Not sure how it got to be 2:30 already.
Sat down to update from home yesterday, and realized I couldn�t get my brain to sit still long enough to type an understandable sentence. I was feeling awfully scattered.
Still feeling rather that way, so I�m afraid this will be rather stream-of-consciousness�
I repotted two of my grandmother�s violets yesterday. I attempted to repot the third, the one that�s been looking rather sickly, but when I went to take it out of the old pot, the whole stem of the plant snapped. It was all dust inside, rotted out. Apparently, the sickly look was happening for a reason.
I stood on my back porch and cried. When I brought the plant home from her house, it was healthy and blooming. I know it�s just a plant, but I can�t get past the thought that it missed her. I know how it feels.
Wednesday is the Artboy�s 30th birthday. I emailed him last week to ask if he�d ever heard the Dead City Rockers, the band Genghis Jon is playing with in a couple weeks. He emailed me back all chatty (Jon, I think you may get all of us in your audience!). At lunch today, I bought him a birthday card. Funny how hard it is to pick out a card for your Ex.
I packed up the Boyfriend�s kitchen on Saturday. He has more pots, pans and dishes than any other non-cooking person I know. Amazing. Six boxes later, all his cabinets are empty. He closes on the old place on May 29,and then lives in limbo until June 26. It�s going to be an interesting month.
He made me very angry yesterday. We were going to a cookout at Steve and Erica�s. He was supposed to be at my house by 3:00. At 4:00, I paged him. At 4:02, he called me from his dad�s. At 4:25, he pulled up to find me sitting on the front steps with everything we needed to bring in a pile, waiting.
He didn�t seem to understand why this frustrated me.
I made pepperoni cheese bread in the bread machine to bring to Erica. When I sliced it, there was no pepperoni visible. Apparently, the bread machine kneaded the pepperoni into teensy flecks, barely visible to the unknowing eye. It was essence of pepperoni bread. But quite good.
Even angry with the Boyfriend, I still saved him a piece of the crusty top slice, the best part of the bread. He did eventually apologize.
Jen�s entry today is about traveling heavy. I understand that feeling.
While the Boyfriend was cleaning out his storage bins on Saturday, he found a photo album full of pictures of him with Bridget, his ex-girlfriend. He asked me if I wanted to see them, or if it was too weird for me. I laughed and took the book.
His senior prom pictures are in there. He looks scarily like one of the Coreys�I can never remember which one is Haim and which one is Feldman�the skinny one with the curly hair, who played the younger brother in The Lost Boys. Bridget looked nothing like I�d pictured her. That�s not surprising.
He told me he doesn�t know what to do with stuff like that. �Do I just leave it in a box and pull it out every few years, flip through and say, �yeah, that was me� and then put it back?�
I have boxes of remnants like that, pieces of older parts of my life. I think I have every letter anyone has ever written to me. I have a trunk in my room at my mom�s filled with things I�m sure I�d be embarrassed to explain to anyone. I have a box in my apartment now, an Artboy box, full of reminders of happier places in our relationship. I have all my old diaries in varying degrees of used up, depending on how much I liked the physical act of writing in them. I have several photo album�s worth of pictures, should I ever sort them and mount them in any kind of order, pictures of people who have been so important to me at different times in my life, people I haven�t talked to in years.
I don�t know what I�ll do with all these things when finally the Boyfriend and I are in the same place. Some of them, I�m sure I can throw away, but others I could never put in the trash--the pencil drawing HSBF Scott did for me from a photo of us taken at the Hard Rock Caf�, the candleholder the Artboy made for me on my 25th birthday, my �metaphor�--the art piece he gave to me when he was trying to win me back. These will never be trash. And my own writing�how could I throw away my own words? Looking back at them shows me who I was and how I got to be who I am. Some things I�m just destined to continue to carry with me for the rest of my life.
---------------------------------------------
Something to say about this entry?
Add your comments here (0 people have spoken already)
< Sugarcube, Baby! | What I saved >
