It is another Tuesday. Yes, you guessed it, my day of rest.
This morning, I had enough fake money for EITHER a bagel OR coffee. I chose a bagel
with a feeling of despondency I hoped would not carry over to the rest of my day.
It was poppy seed, and it had a lot of cream cheese. The disappointment did not
cost any money, however. They sell that for free. You can even use your flex
dollars if you’d like.
There is a certain pair of climbing shoes in my closet I’ve
been thinking about. Nevermind that I have six pairs of climbing shoes in my
closet, that isn’t the point. These shoes are different. They are OLD. They’re
leather high tops with super thick rubber. The soles have steel shanks in them
for one reason or another (who knows what went through peoples minds back
then), and they weigh so much. I mean, a couple pounds at least. That’s a lot
for shoes, right? Anyways, I just can’t seem to get rid of them. I know that
I’ll never use them (at least seriously. Costume party, maybe), but it seems a
shame to just give them away.
Similarly, I have a box of things I love I keep under my
desk. I like to call it mine, my box of preciouses. It doesn’t get rooted
through much, but its roots stretch deep into my life. A sad freshman year
letter from a high school friend sits in a red folder next to crumpled essays
by John Muir and two folded copies of The
Land Ethic. A Polaroid of a drunken new year takes up the space between my
not-yet-written postcard collection and the “Eureka Room” sign I hang on my
dorm room door. It’s a box I hold near and dear to my heart, the contents of
which are always changing and growing. I find the consolidation of loveable
things into a box to be the best way to actively remember your past.
I think I am I just summarizing the memory of a friend in a single
picture, or a single letter written when that person may or may not have been
travelling Europe. And I think that is at least a little okay. I am not as sure about these these shoes, though. Do I really need 40-year-old
climbing shoes? Or am I just being an idiot? What am I going to do with all
this stupid shit I drag around with me (like shoes, Christmas vests, silly
hats) when I inevitably live in a house on wheels? At least pictures and memories don't have steel shanks in the soles.
As the party of super seniors and super juniors departs from this town, or idea of a town (because that’s all Asheville is), I wonder if this box of knick-knacks will really shake a stick at the idea of the past.
As the party of super seniors and super juniors departs from this town, or idea of a town (because that’s all Asheville is), I wonder if this box of knick-knacks will really shake a stick at the idea of the past.
“How do you start an ice cream parlor in hell without doing
some injustice to hot or cold?”
I made a mixtape. It is a bit garage-y. Enjoy.
In other news, the hobbit comes out on Friday. I’m stoked.
Riley.
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