- Well, for the first time since I moved into an apartment with Ray, Das,
and Albutt back in '95, I feel energized about my living space. I
have a home now, I like it, and I know (hopefully) that I'll be living
there for some time to come. I still need to put together some more
furniture, get a car, and buy a computer, but I feel refreshed when I go
home. That's nothing against Ray and his mom's place; it was a nice
house, and Ray and his mom were really very good to me (his mom especially,
heh.). But it wasn't my place or my space. The apartment I'm
at now, while it's not exactly "mine", and I share it with Jenny and I
can't smoke up in it, has the feelings of home after only two days of sleeping
in my recently assembled bed. And quite a comfy bed it is.
It'd be more comfy with a 96 pound waif of a honey lying next to me (and
that's probably all it could fit), but it's nice.
Last nite Jenny and I collaborated on putting together my drawer. After about three hours, we got it all assembled surprisingly well, except for the one piece at the bottom that's white when the rest of the drawer is black. It looks like Gary Coleman with white shoes. I can always paint it. As I was stuffing it with my boxers, socks, and undershirts, I realized that the three drawers aren't enough. I need at least four! But I managed. I put my work socks in with my undershirts. I'm crafty that way. I'm sure in two weeks that my three drawers will be an orgy of socks, shirts, boxers, bong pipes, dirty magazines, etc. For for today, it's neat.
After I stocked the drawers up, I started going through some of the shit my mom brought with her when she was out here in May. I asked her to bring one thing -- my 12th grade yearbook. Instead she brought the rest of my shit minus my yearbook. My mom's like that. I realized it was a bunch of personal stuff of mine, so I sat down to go through it, throw out what I didn't want, and put the rest into a 12x8x4 inch box.
That was some weird shit -- it was a collection of old report cards, certificates of commendation, prom materials, old school IDs, and other school related stuff. Heh, my medals and awards from Academic League were also in there. There was also all of the old letters I used to receive back in the days before e-mail (yes, back in the stone ages of correspondence we actually wrote letters on paper). Here I was in my new apartment, surrounded by new furniture, fully energized even though it was midnight, and I was going through stuff dating from the 1970s all the way through, say 1995 or so. Old ticket stubs. The fly ball I caught off of Greg Jefferies. It was completely odd reliving the memories that went with them.
The momentos that other people have, that I wish I had, aren't there because they never existed. Photos of old girlfriends, love letters, my first used condom <-- hey, I'd save it. Instead, it's mostly shit like my DMV driving test sheet (I got an 82). Besides the letters from friends that I got during my first two years or so of college, and the foul ball, most of it is very non-personal, stuff that everybody gets. It was interesting to see how far I've come -- chronologically the first thing in the box is a certificate of attendance to Grace Lutheran Bible Class from 1978 -- but I also realized how much I missed.
And that sucks.