No. 197 - Garbage Defined

Tonite I was going through some a bag that had been stuffed in one of the dark corners of our garage. It was some clothes that my Mom had been holding onto since I had moved back to Nebraska in '91. Why she held onto all those clothes, I have no idea. But even more mind-boggling is my desire to take some of those items home with me 15 years later.

One of the items was a fringed, white leather jacket. I was some serious hot shit back in the '80's with my mall bangs and fringed jacket that I use to love wearing even when it was hot outside just because I loved the smell of leather. Admittedly, I was a freak.

The first time I met Mr. DD's family, I wore that jacket. I didn't remember that, but Mr. DD's sister (Nutbag) did. She also remembered me wearing it with black hot pants (never had any, but I think she meant the black knit "biker" shorts that were the thing back in the late '80's) with a pair of thigh-high boots (again, I had boots, but they only came up to the knee and they were flat heeled - NUTBAG!). Obviously I made an impression. I wondered what the rest of the family thought as the occasion that Mr. DD decided to take me to after only a couple weeks of dating was his father's surprise 70th birthday party to which Mr. DD's entire family, including his father's brothers flew in from the east coast to attend.

They probably weren't overly surprised. At the time Mr. DD had a look that was entirely outside of the Small Town, Nebraska norm consisting of very long rocker-hair. I probably seemed just his type to them.

After I pulled the jacket from the bag, ruined with mildew, I knew it was time to let it go. I mean, what the hell am I going to do with a musty old coat that is so ridiculous, even in it's own day, that it couldn't possibly come back into vogue? I pitched it into the trash can as Mr. DD watched. Are you sure you want to let it go, he asked. Yeah, I'm sure.

He cut off his hair a year or so after we got married, and I just recently threw the ponytail into the garbage as well during some spring cleaning. I've realized that our impending move will be very cathartic. It's time to get rid of a lot of things I haven't thought about or even seen in years. Even the not-so-far-in-the-distant-past items have met their fate at the bottom of the garbage can: my follistim case and extra needles (which I actually thought I threw out months ago) bit the dust, but not before I opened the case to look inside and noted that there was still a little bit of the drug still inside the delivery pen. After I threw it away, I cried.

I didn't cry when I threw away my coat. I didn't cry when I threw away Mr. DD's ponytail. I cried when I threw away the follistim. The former objects represented memories of the past. I still have those memories, though faded. But the follistim represented a potential future and throwing that away made me wonder if I was throwing away the hope of what I had envisioned my future to include.