html xmlns:og='' xmlns:expr=''> Lounging at the Waldorf: Random Real Story


Monday, August 6, 2012

Random Real Story

On my 24th birthday, my then-boyfriend brought three presents to my apartment.

1. An Old Mustard Jar with a Record Needle Inside
I'd recently bought at turntable at a garage sale and it needed a new needle so he bought me one. The transparent mustard jar wasn't the gift so much as the gift wrap.

2. Bed Pillows
I already had two bed pillows but the gentleman found them uncomfortable. So for my birthday, he gave me a gift for him.

3. Pillowcases 
One pillowcase was dark blue while the other was light blue. They didn't match, he proudly told me, because they were on sale.

At about 4pm we ate burgers at a local fast food chain and so, you know, the whole birthday dinner thing was sorted. Not surprisingly, in the morning, when his roommate asked, "Did ______ make you feel special?" I burst into tears.

But right now, I cannot stop laughing. A fucking mustard jar?

I am writing this because not because I care to cruise down memory lane. I am writing this because I have a problem holding on to anger and I am happy, truly elated, that I can laugh about these things now.

There was a time when telling any story of a past hurt would have made my blood boil, heart race, and jaw clench like the whole bad episode was unfolding in the here and now. This is the danger of my mind, tricking itself into ripping and re-ripping wound after wound after wound.

But now I'm able to let this go. Which makes me wonder, what else can I let go of?

Image Credit: Spring, Erwin Blumenfeld, 1930's

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