Monday, January 10, 2005
people scoff...
...oh yes, they do. They shake their heads in sad wonder, pondering your strange ways. "When was the last time you wore that?" they ask. "If you haven't worn it or even looked at it in six months, get rid of it! You obviously don't need it."
Though part of you agrees with them, still you resist, reluctant to let go of your packrat ways. Over the years you manage to get rid of more than you thought possible, but still your methods - madness to some - clings to you. Because you're sure that someday it will come in handy. So it sits in your closet for years. You may move to a new home, a new apartment, where it will find a new place to live. You clean out the various closets, but still you hang on to it.
Then it rains. It rains more than it has rained for a very long time. Weeks and weeks of rain flood the gutters and the intersections. You silently curse the lack of a small dinghy, wondering how you will cross the small lakes and whirlpools that spring up in your neighborhood, because there is no other way to get to work. And while you wouldn't mind staying home because wading through calf-deep water is hardly appealing, you know that such a course of action isn't practical.
Then you remember. You spring to your closet, sifting through the piles, and you find them. You pull them on, realizing they're tighter than you remember, but still they fit. Though cracks have developed on the outside, pieces are missing and it gives off a strange smell, you notice as you cross the street that it still performs its job well enough to make you happy you kept it. And as old, musty icing to this slightly dilapidated cake, it helps to keep you warm.
Oh, that pair of wonderful, unfashionable, but still cute weatherproof, pile-lined, feminine yet sensible heeled boots that your mother gave you for Christmas in the mid-80s. Sometimes your strange ways aren't so crazy after all.
Though part of you agrees with them, still you resist, reluctant to let go of your packrat ways. Over the years you manage to get rid of more than you thought possible, but still your methods - madness to some - clings to you. Because you're sure that someday it will come in handy. So it sits in your closet for years. You may move to a new home, a new apartment, where it will find a new place to live. You clean out the various closets, but still you hang on to it.
Then it rains. It rains more than it has rained for a very long time. Weeks and weeks of rain flood the gutters and the intersections. You silently curse the lack of a small dinghy, wondering how you will cross the small lakes and whirlpools that spring up in your neighborhood, because there is no other way to get to work. And while you wouldn't mind staying home because wading through calf-deep water is hardly appealing, you know that such a course of action isn't practical.
Then you remember. You spring to your closet, sifting through the piles, and you find them. You pull them on, realizing they're tighter than you remember, but still they fit. Though cracks have developed on the outside, pieces are missing and it gives off a strange smell, you notice as you cross the street that it still performs its job well enough to make you happy you kept it. And as old, musty icing to this slightly dilapidated cake, it helps to keep you warm.
Oh, that pair of wonderful, unfashionable, but still cute weatherproof, pile-lined, feminine yet sensible heeled boots that your mother gave you for Christmas in the mid-80s. Sometimes your strange ways aren't so crazy after all.
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