Last night I was slightly nervous about my prospective out of town trip on the horizon. I was slotted to leave Monday which was pushed to Tuesday and eventually (this afternoon) was cancelled altogether owing to an automobile malfunction. So my nervousness was wasted as I sat wide-eyed and bushy tailed next to one snoring big-butted man AKA Justin. Who by the way confessed that his anti-snoring nose strip was attached to his undercarriage this morning. I hope I wasn't sleep malfunctioning again... It was probably his fault. Yeah. I'm going with that.
I started to ruminate over the things I'd tossed out in our garage purge. My guilt grew increasingly more prominent as I envisioned a certain gift that was hand crafted for me approximately 27-28 years ago sitting in our garbage pail. I vacillated for hours over it. Isn't it funny how we can grow so attached to material objects in our lives. Isn't it even more peculiar when those items provide a host of bad memories?
I ultimately went and fished the item out of the garbage pail. It was covered in dust, dirt, debris, and dead bugs. I half-heartedly brushed it off and placed it in a plastic garbage bag so it can sit in the corner of our garage until such a time I deem it appropriate to throw away. I guess sometimes it is hard to ignore the memories; be it bad or good memories. I suppose that is okay--because how else are we supposed to grow, and live and all of that?
I hope I'm not the only one unable to detach from certain things. If I am then hey; that's just one more "interesting fact," I can use to describe myself in future job interviews. People will be like 'i saved a man from a burning car,' 'I climbed Mount Everest,' 'My sister is Natalie Portman,' and I'll be like 'I have attachment issues to inanimate objects,' and I'll probably be wearing the item which I would have fashioned into a cape because Hogwarts. #winning.
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