Tuesday, June 10, 2008

My love life fits in a drawer.

I like doing laundry. A LOT. For some random reason, it makes me feel powerful. I am very methodical about it too. Whites. Blacks. Reds. Jeans. Pastels. Stuff-I-Don't-Care- If-It-Dies...And then of course the appropriate soap and the like.

Obsessive-compulsive at its best.

Anyway, when I came home from work today, I was all psyched over the prospect of spending my Tuesday night at home doing laundry. (I really do love it!). As usual, I started by taking off my shoes by the door, dropping my purse and keys off on the counter's barstool, turned on the radio (I am still listening to the French music my Frenchie left me), went to the bathroom and took my clothes off, then walked to the dresser in the bedroom to pick out something to wear.

Ahhhhh but it's laundry day.
(here that means NOTHING TO WEAR)

So I opened the bottom drawer. The one I don't ever look at because, well, it's the last one! I opened it and pulled out a pair of pijama pants 8 sizes too big, and a Charlie Brown t-shirt worn too many times. Not mine. I put them on anyway. Then I started looking around to see what else was there and there was that sweatshirt, those boxers, that concert t-shirt, that scarf...

Also not mine.

And to think that there was a time when each item in the bottom drawer had a spot in the top one...
Now maybe not so much.
But I won't be letting them go...
Not for now anyway.

That drawer tells a story...the story that centers around the sweater...
but ended with La Vie en Rose.

3 comments:

Blenche said...

By the way have you seen the movie 'La vie en Rose'? It's very good.

annush said...

No, I haven't but I've forever been obsessed with the song!

Gabe said...

I think that is normal. I still have some stuff from a couple of past flames that fizzled in friendly terms. Their locations have also changed. A pair of earrings that were left on the middle of my desk, moved to the side for a while, and now are no longer visible, they are behind the pen/pencil mug on one of the corners. I even forget they are there only to find them when I'm wiping dust away. A strand of hair that was taped to a single piece of paper which was pinned to a cork board, is now in a box of old memories in my closet.

I still won't get rid of them. Just like old photographs of happy times, when I encounter them they only bring good memories. When I encounter those objects they not only remind me of the person, but remind me of how happy I was when I shared those moments with them. You probably feel the same way.

:)