Friday night, I was cleaning the drawers next to my bed. I was in the mood for spring cleaning, for completely wiping everything I didn't like out of the way so I could work better and harder, to make up for my apathy during the 3rd quarter as my grades crashed down beside me. I emptied the first drawer, and in a moment of epiphany, dumped the contents of the third drawer as well. There I saw a ton of memories fighting for reconciliation all at once. Cleaning it all up took awhile.
First there was a letter that my "friends" (To this day, I don't know what these people really thought of me but I'll go with friends) wrote for my 14th birthday that made me the happiest person alive for a day. I don't know why I like it so much, but I do. It's a purple, papery envelope embroidered by a doodle of a ninja with a matching plainly purple card in the inside, signed by people I knew in my grade.
There was also the bootleg dvds from Syria that we all thought were great at one point in our lives, copies of Advocate written by people who have long graduated, an old napkin with an aol account scribbled on it that I never bothered to contact, etc etc.
Most of this stuff had to be tucked away into another box or two, or simply thrown away with lack of relevence and age. It got me thinking though, that I did have a life before this one, the one I have at Hinsdale Central. Like, its so easy to forget about the things that you have tucked away in drawers you barely ever open and look at, and its really hard to remember in full detail rather than in cursory remembrance the person you used to be.
It's a comfort in a way though. That there was someone here and that your memory is the least accurate narrative of what kind of person you are as a whole. You know?
I am a terrible writer. BUT WHATEVER.
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