The Unopened Box

Boxes lie scattered on the floor
Opened
Memories once locked safely away
Released
To freely come out
To be remembered
Acknowledged
Processed

Cutting a Cord

Disgusted with the high price of cable and internet, this afternoon I packed up all of my cable t.v. equipment and walked to Comcast to cancel the cable t.v. portion. I walked out of Comcast having cancelled the internet too, after their best price for any internet was still over $60.

Though I’d given some thought to dropping both, in the end, it was rather impulsive to drop the internet. Now I’m faced with thinking through what that actually means.

Drain

Stopping in the doorway
I brace myself
The rowdy sound of many voices
Engaged in animated conversation
The extroverts are energized

Out the Window

I will say again, “all memory is fiction.” I clearly remember the following story, but my friend Krista has already told me that she remembers it differently! Here’s what I remember.

I attended school in the days before ADHD diagnoses and the naming of learning styles (kinesthetic for me). I struggled to sit in my desk and pay attention, which caused misbehavior and a lack of focus for me. I could tell all-too-many stories of my exploits. This is one of them.

Eyes

Sometimes I am surprised by my younger self and what she saw or understood. That was before times of numbing myself to feeling. In some ways, my young self was wiser than some later versions of myself. Today I rediscovered this poem that I wrote. Judging by the handwriting and grammar, I think I was in middle school or early high school. It gives me hope for my writing now. If I could find depth then, I certainly should be able to tap into greater life experience and expression now.

 

Can you see into those eyes?
To  the bitterness and defiance?
Look hard, for it is there.

Night

(I wrote this poem when I was a kid. I was probably 12-14 years old at the time.)

We felt we should be outside
in the night
instead of inside.

I slipped outside
and was joined
by my friend.