Strange Little Collecting Project

The other day while I was cleaning out some desk drawers in my office, I made the mistake of opening up the drawer that I keep all my old journals in. I’ve kept a journal consistently since I was 11 years old, so I knew from the very moment that I saw the first journal, the spiral notebook with the psychedelic print on the front, that my cleaning adventures for the day were over. Sure enough, I sat on the floor of my office for the next four hours reading through the past 15 years of my life, laughing, crying, and cringing. I relived my first kiss, my first dance, my parents’ divorce, taking my brother to college, my first heartbreak, my first time really getting into trouble, my entire college experience…and I was reminded again of why I am so thankful for my mother who bought me that first journal so long ago. I got to sit in the middle of my office surrounded by my bills and papers for work, and watch myself develop into a person. Some of the stuff that I found I should probably bur...

Why is my life so embarrassing? Why am I prone to such mortifying and humiliating experiences? Is this some type of karmic character building thing because if it is, I feel like I have plenty of character at this point. I’m totally fine with taking a character building breather, even if it’s just for a few days. I decided last night at around 9:30 that I needed gummy worms. Not wanted…NEEDED. Like if I didn’t get gummy worms last night, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. It was weird; it was random; it was hormonal. I grabbed a Fiona Apple CD (this is how I know this whole endeavor was hormonal), and then I drove my pajama wearing self up to the Harris Teeter. And these weren’t just any pajamas. These were my most conspicuous pajamas ever, bright pink and white pants with cupcakes all over them, and a waist band with the word “Sweet” printed across it. Of course, after the week I’ve had, the waistband actually read more like, “Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.” So after I grabbed my fat fre...

This past week I went out to dinner with my mother. We were driving by Shadybrook Elementary, my old school, and my mother said, “Man. I spent more time than I can count in that parking lot.” Every day from around 1:50 to 2:30, my mother would sit in the car-rider line waiting for me and my brother to get out of school. Her burgundy station wagon was always one of the first cars there, so I never had to wait long. It didn’t occur to me until this week that my mom existed in that car for 30 to 40 minutes a day before I climbed into it, ready to tell her what I made in art class. Never, in the past 20years, have I thought about this fact. I know in elementary school egocentrism is raging, but it should have occurred to me in the last 10 years at least. How have I never thought about this before? It’s like I didn’t realize that she even existed until I got into the car. What did she do every day for half an hour? Did she listen to music or talk radio? Did she read or cross stitch? Did she...