if i ever feel better
i'll take a walk around, let you know...
*
cleaning out the upper shed. my SIL is throwing stuff out left and right. it's only when my brother steps in, says Hey. that's when the deep diving goes into effect. opening up the storage containers. sorting. tossing. the model airplanes that my brother has been saving up, ok. i get that. clothes from 1995? really? and then comes the good stuff: a box of pellets that i swear i knew from 850 College Ave, Columbus, OH. And I ask, "really, you still have this?" and the best response i get is how you "never know". then comes a box of shells that our dad had saved from his military days. i won't lie, i grabbed four thermal tops that were going to get discarded. but. But. We dug thru all this crap, mostly my brother's and primarily just to ensure space for the xmas decorations and whatnot (my idiocy included) but...let it go.
*
when i first moved in i was amazed at how some things change but they don't. asking for a pair of work gloves i was pointed to a chest of drawers. the very same chest that i grew up seeing my brother use and still has now. same plastic handles. same bottom doors that never open properly and you have to work to get to close. i ask him, why? i could give your reasons but they suck.
*
i think about these things yesterday. all of this and more. how i talked about the old church with a friend in Columbus. our strange, shared history. the GOP screwing us over with the health care idiocy. how media infiltrates our head. black helicopters. but beyond all this, my sarcasm aside, what i thought about was how we view things. material. mental. external vs internal. and what i saw was this, walking down the road: I discarded the physical baggage, thinking this would solve the mental problem. What I discovered was that no matter how much of the physical you discard, the mental will expand to fill the void.
*
cleaning out the upper shed. my SIL is throwing stuff out left and right. it's only when my brother steps in, says Hey. that's when the deep diving goes into effect. opening up the storage containers. sorting. tossing. the model airplanes that my brother has been saving up, ok. i get that. clothes from 1995? really? and then comes the good stuff: a box of pellets that i swear i knew from 850 College Ave, Columbus, OH. And I ask, "really, you still have this?" and the best response i get is how you "never know". then comes a box of shells that our dad had saved from his military days. i won't lie, i grabbed four thermal tops that were going to get discarded. but. But. We dug thru all this crap, mostly my brother's and primarily just to ensure space for the xmas decorations and whatnot (my idiocy included) but...let it go.
*
when i first moved in i was amazed at how some things change but they don't. asking for a pair of work gloves i was pointed to a chest of drawers. the very same chest that i grew up seeing my brother use and still has now. same plastic handles. same bottom doors that never open properly and you have to work to get to close. i ask him, why? i could give your reasons but they suck.
*
i think about these things yesterday. all of this and more. how i talked about the old church with a friend in Columbus. our strange, shared history. the GOP screwing us over with the health care idiocy. how media infiltrates our head. black helicopters. but beyond all this, my sarcasm aside, what i thought about was how we view things. material. mental. external vs internal. and what i saw was this, walking down the road: I discarded the physical baggage, thinking this would solve the mental problem. What I discovered was that no matter how much of the physical you discard, the mental will expand to fill the void.
posted by jersn at 2:36 AM
1 Comments:
and i didn't even mention how I knew exactly where that box of pellets would have been found at 850...in the disused, unheated, breakfast room that no one liked and had nothing but newspapers, discarded books, and a table that my sister now has and loves. that box of pellets...right side walking in, lower top shelf.
I really hate my memory sometimes.
Post a Comment
<< Home