Don't Tell Anyone

I just threw away the journal. You know, the one that documented the last two years, in all their gory glory. Now that journal is sitting on the curb, tucked under an empty pizza box, waiting to be recycled.

I get tired just thinking about it.

The whole book weighs maybe a single pound and yet dumping it was a lot like trying to get rid of a body. First there's the ick, then there's the gross, and then to top it all off it's just such a pain in the tush that the ick and the gross start to look a lot like secondary considerations. I could sit by the window and watch for the recycling truck but somehow that feels a little too Miss Haversham from Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations."

Mr. Poppins says the secret to happiness is low expectations. I prefer not to think about what that means for our marriage, except to mention that Mr. Poppins has learned to accept his potpie with a smile and be glad for it.

Heh.

But I am in no mood, people. No Mood. Or maybe even, NO MOOD.

!

The forgetting has not yet begun. I am ready to let the forgetting begin. Instead, I am so Miss Haversham, with every day a shrine to remembering and no moving on in sight. I might as well be gathering dust and cobwebs, I am so stuck in the past year.

For those of you who are not familiar with Dickens and are having trouble following this metaphor, well, use google. That's what it's there for. Cultural enrichment. And finding porn. Or click on the link that I so thoughtfully inserted above. That took time, people. Don't let me efforts go to waste.

But most of you know exactly what I mean. You've maybe seen the movie with Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke. Or even read the book. I read it when I was ten and, seriously, it was a hard slog. And I was freaking ten. And it was in maybe seven point type. No wonder I'm blind as a bat and a little batty to boot. Miss Haversham formed part of my psyche, shaped my world view, laid the foundation for my expectations of life and relationships.

This so explains my reclusiveness and my love of wedding cake and my desire to waltz through everyday life in a formal gown and matching tiara. Although, I prefer fresh wedding cake to twenty-year-old fossilized, home-to-mice-and-spiders wedding cake.

I really do.

I also prefer being happily married to the aforementioned, not-too-great-of-expectations Mr. Poppins because that's so much nicer than being a bitter spinster who was jilted on her wedding day. Although, I wouldn't have necessarily blamed Mr. Poppins if he took one look at all the potpies in his future and high-tailed it to the nearest all-you-can-eat buffet.

Anyway, in the time since I started writing this post, the recycling has come and gone, possibly twice. I lose track of these things. And my mood has improved. I'm not exactly in the mood, but at least I'm not in no mood anymore. There's something about the symbolic act of tossing the past, of reducing all that angst and goosh to next week's newspaper that makes it seem so not-that-important. Sure, it happened.

Happened.

Note the past tense. And it's done now. And gone. I've got a new journal, one with a lot of blank pages, to fill. I'm even considering the possibility that I might want to keep this one. Because maybe it's going to document the most glorious year of my life.

You never know.

Comments

[Karita]

That is cool. Good luck filling in the new blank pages!

[Diosa]

Miss Haversham is one of the most memorable characters in all literature.

[SistahFromAnotherMistah]

You're amazing. I can't even throw out my grandmother's oversized "mohair" 40s couch and two chairs. They are sitting in my garage museum with a lamp of theirs with bad 40s wiring that I wouldn't dare plug in, a formica table that is so old it should be cool but it's broken and rusty instead and an army jacket from my dad that this peace-loving girl would never in a zillion years. I'm inspired; I think it's time to move the cars back into the garage instead.

[The Dol]

Sistah, I hear ya. I have held on to some of the weirdest stuff. I have some dorky shirts my mom gave me as gifts--stuff I would never wear but I can't give them away.

Polly, here's to the best year evah!

[SistahFromAnotherMistah]

I'm glad I'm not alone (although durable goods is probably over the line!).

Polly--forgot to mention that the Ethan/Gwyneth version of Great Expectations is in the top 3 on my "Favorite Movies of All-Time" list. Love, love, love the Haversham garden imagery that pervades the film. I think it's time to dig it up and watch it again...