Friday, May 14, 2010
Ok, so if you have read any of my blogs, you can tell that I am kind of....verbose. A bit long-winded, one might say. The only way that I am going to keep this thing going is to get over my 'issue' - where I have to have a completed thought, from beginning to end, and read said thought 17 times before posting to be sure that I like what I wrote. I need to let it spill out, to be more spontaneous in my writing. Fellow bloggers, please give me tips on how you all accomplish this, I am so fucking jealous. How do you do this every day, or every week?
So here I go, an attempt at a short, quick entry:
I am moving out of my house of 6 years in just 13 days. There are a ton of memories here, most of them good. Then again, there are a few that I would love to purge from my mental rolodex. One of them is embodied in a letter, written by a young woman that I hurt emotionally. I constantly try to tell myself that I by no means intended to hurt her, that she unfortunately was a victim of Clusterfuck circumstance. But I know myself (somewhat), and am very aware of how my view on relationships/love can draw women in, while at the same time set them up for what will inevitably be, heartbreak. I am by no means trying to be arrogant about this - on the contrary, I am trying to be more honest with myself than I usually allow (it is much easier to lie to myself than it is to other people). But my romantic proclivities are for another post. The important thing is that I have always kept this letter as a reminder that, no matter what your intentions are, you can still hurt someone just by being you.
So today, I made a run to the dump, looking to rid myself of the mountains of shit that I have hoarded over the years - carrying them from place to place like some sort of demented sherpa. In one of the boxes was the letter; and I knew exactly what box it was in. I got to the dump, and tossed that box into the pile of rubbish with a head-swelling sense of accomplishment. Go me!
As I turned to get back in the truck and take off, I noticed the man parked beside me, gazing down at the last item in his load (God, that sounded wrong) - it appeared to be a picture frame. Before I realized that I was uncomfortably staring at him, he looked up at me. And I shit you not, a single tear was streaming down his face. He freaked a bit, clutched the frame to his chest, and got back in his truck. I sat there in silence as he tore the hell off, feeling like I had just infringed on a very important moment in his life. One where he made a decision between letting go and holding on.
On the way home, I held a slow and steady 45 mph down the Ortega, singing Van Morrison's 'Baby Please Don't Go' (one of the single greatest rock songs ever written) along with the radio. On the seat next to me: that letter. I know, I know....Trash Picker! So, what do you guys think? Was it a serendipity type kinda moment? Or narcissistic, boderline OCD behavior? You tell me, let me have it.