Tuesday, August 01, 2006

box of hair

It's kinda late. I can't sleep.

Tonight I went by an old house I used to live in, the current residents of which graciously allowed me to keep a corner of their basement as storage space when I moved out. I dragged out 7 fucking boxes. There are still 4 crates of records down there.

Leah, the kind and giving soul that she is, helped me unload them from her car onto the back deck of my apartment. A good chunk of my life, heaped into a half-dozen boxes. All my journals & other writing. Almost every photo I ever took, including two trips to Europe, funny things like my high school graduation photos, and my 'memory bag' (which is what it read on the outside), which contained my mortar board and well wishes from my classmates. I scanned over the faces of my graduating class and wondered where they all were, and what they were doing. I only know the fate of 8 or 10 at the most...seeing those pics took me back to an interesting time in my life, when I was meeting dozens of people who would later help me develop and shape the ideas I have and the person I am today. I was punk rock, or at least thought I was, and I can see through my stickers, pins and poster collection, that I was SERIOUS about music. I re-learn through reading notes & diaries and finding doodles that I was, at times, a shameless flirt, an asshole, a coward, a studious teenager, a drug addict, a sexually confused kid, an anti-socialite.

They say hindsight is 20/20; I'm not sure I agree - it's funny (strange, not ha ha) to look back and see both how naive I was and how jaded I've become. I used to care; I used to not give a fuck. I used to think I had it all figured out. I'm here, 10 years later about to make the biggest leap of my life, and I'm feeling...confident as I take it.


It's a matter of shedding some skin. I combed through these boxes and found my sports cards from when I was 11. My bar mitzvah books. The birth of my interest in punk. The birth of my interest in electronic music. Flyers of parties I went to in clubs when I was underage. High diatribes recorded in journals, shaky handwriting n' all. In the end I dumped 2 full garbage bags, another full bag of tshirts for value village, and filled one BIG box with lots of smaller boxes. I never would have thought myself to be a packrat, but apparently I am, and a severe one at that. I'll keep that in mind when I move.



Look at that. Seeking the future through (re)discovering my past. It's funny the difference a day makes. Time for bed.

4 Comments:

Blogger michelle. said...

i just moved and did the whole 'trip down memory lane' thing myself...

for me it's always a complete mindfuck; part of me is EXACTLY the same person that i was at 12, 14, 19 and yet i'm also completely different. i can't wrap my head around the fact that so much of who i am seems to have been with me since birth and yet i am completely shaped by experience and friends and blah, blah...

nostalgia always murders me in the best and worst ways; more than anything else actually.

funny...

August 02, 2006 10:41 AM  
Blogger michelle. said...

see eli, that's why i never post comments.

;)

August 02, 2006 10:41 AM  
Blogger sharky said...

i love nostalgia, i am one of those people who never through anything away. Its great to look back and see where you were in that point in your life. Everyone grows up and people change.

I wish I just made more homemovies...

August 03, 2006 11:44 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

so true... all of it.
The last year or so has had me sort and resort the versions of me to fit into smaller and smaller boxes. Every time i have to decide to throw something away, i sort of feel like i dropped my wallet at the pick-pockets convention. like i am losing me forever. fortunately, we have the pictures, the memories, and the friends to remind us of the important things.
like who we are now and who we're becoming. thanks for the reflection shmee. love it, and you.

August 07, 2006 2:54 AM  

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