It's been incredibly difficult and insightful and strange cleaning out/up/in the apartment. Cleaning out our clothes closet has been tough. Now I'm on to paper files, and books and journals and calenders from years past. But, it started with the clothes.
Me, to my own head:
Well, I can't get rid of that. That little piece of fabric we once called a shirt, that little thing holds a TON of memories for me. And, no, no I can't get rid of those jeans. I wore those on the very first date I had with RK.
It's a weird trail down your past. It all takes you back to a moment in time.
And it's not just about my clothes. It's his, too.
No, no, no, dude, you can't get rid of that tshirt!
um, why not? it's got holes, it's totally worn thin, i'm not gonna wear it anymore, it's seen it's day.
yeah, but that t-shirt...you used to wear that t-shirt all the time when we first dated!
In the opposite way one might think, I'm truly detached from some things and absolutely, down-right ridiculously sappy about others. It's weird.
So, now I'm in the other closet and doing the paper version of a past life.
Damn, between the two of us, we must have thousands of photos, a ton of music, a die-hard amount of vintage cameras, turquoise pottery, journals for each year of our lives, a flurry of watches, a stack of wallets, an aray of notebooks (both filled and empty)-- a lot, a lot of stuff. That comprises a lot, a lot of memories both fresh and far.
It's been a kick. Though this project has been going on for months, just last night we did the mid-relationship-review of the photo-books of our high school youth- into -freshman year of college: Always a good laugh, for both parties.
Stuff: It's got a funny sentimentality.