2004-07-27 - 9:22 PM

Moving.

The living room is gutted except for the couch. Coral's picking that up Friday. A trophy from one of the more heartwrenching experiences of my life, returned to the one who caused it, then undid it. We found pictures from freshman year, polaroids of elastic stretchy toy lizards arranged as an ancient tribal culture, a wise and learned (pronounced lur-ned for emphasis) face gazing down approvingly upon them. The caption reads "He is there king."

The top right drawer of my computer desk, though, is what causes it. That nostalgia, sense of wonder at things you thought you'd forgotten, as you discover links to past lives you lived in this one. The drawer is my secret place, a treasure-trove of doo-dads and knick-nacks, pilfered from dollar bins and career fairs. But beneath those lie things I've kept, monetarily worthless trinkets, priceless for the people they came from. These are what matter. I keep them amongst the junk so people won't notice.

Which makes the cleaning out so utterly strange, both mandatory and special.

Metal tin of mints, labelled "PriceWaterHouse Cooper". Toss. Raytheon (local goverment funded missile makers) wall-sticking clock, falls off every 5 minutes and breaks. There's plenty of reasons to fear another war. Toss. Postcard from Clara, Libby. Pup. Dave.

Keep.

Letter opener, a plastic spike leading to a razor edge on the inside. Corporate every-day gadget, emblazaned with a corporate logo to stay in your mind every day you use it. "Federal Bureau of Prisons." A shank, labelled by the prison system. Irony. Keep.

Squishy stress balls, cellphone chairs, a microsoft spider, a dell globe, toss, toss, toss. A keychain Eddie brought me from Singapore, a CD Alissa put in the microwave and painted with nailpolish, a 3 page note from Coral expressing love, gratitude for our friendship, that I mean to her what she does to me. A cigar Billy gave to me the last night he, Dave and I were in Santa Barbara, together, on a playground. To be smoked, he'd hurried through before we could tell he was trying not to cry, the next time we were together.

Keep.

The other drawers are cords and CD's yet to be burned, ragtag collection of techie hardware, long since upgraded USB, video, or network cards. Chips, case fans. In my closet, more of the same. A couple more books, some extra clothes, the labcoat that I wore to Chemistry. Some I take, some I leave, it's all based on space. The drawer, though. The postcards and cigars and letters and keychains and CD's, the invisibly important artifacts from people who have shaped who I am... With these, there are no question. They go where I go.

-Alex

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