ephemera.

it's been a rather cold and unproductive day, and out of a lack of something useful to do like laundry or grocery shopping due to the rain, i've decided to return to writing aimlessly. sipping my scotch while the gray overcast sky grows darker by the hour, wordless people's positivity beats through my speakers to the mushy pitter-patter of raindrops on the pavement outside my cracked-open window. i take a drink of my macallen twelve and feel the oily fire roll down my throat and pass my chest, only to disappear somwhere in my midsection. waking at eight, yet sleeping till noonish, i've tidied up my room a bit, running across old journals and wire-bound notebooks stuffed into my bookshelf; notebooks in which i've jotted random thoughts on random days.

taking a seat on the carpet, i browse through a few of them, reminiscing about the days i wrote, the joys of traveling, the despairs which ate away at my health, and the classes i was bored with. it's odd how rainy days draw me into the past. i flipped through photographs, and read old greeting cards... some greeting cards with photographs enclosed. i replayed an old sociology conference presentation, read birthday thank-you notes from friends, re-wowed at some close-up in the magic castle, traveled back to europe, revisited the chihuly exhibits around los angeles, and returned home for thanksgiving dinner. looking around my room at the various bits of ephemera tacked onto the walls, i somehow ended up in a twisted version of this is your life, only in technicolor. the approximately past four years of my life, was summed up in a simple collection of reified things. a small pang ripped through my heart and my brain as i threw a few greeting cards, old notes, and photos into the trash, understanding that by doing so, i was commiting some piece of myself, however tiny, to the forgotten and recordless. nevertheless, without such necessary evil, i would be inundated with things only destined to end up as junk. i am making space for the new - new memories, new adventures, and new testament to who i am and what i have experienced.

one's past is what one is. it is the only way by which people should be judged.
: wilde.