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Jeff Watkins
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Previous Posts

A Summary This weekend was long, draining, and ti...
An Itinerary Okay, here is a verbal schematic of ...
From The President of My Seminary President's Off...
Clean. Free. Liberated. It's been official for a ...
Please, Just Read On Some people really shouldn't...
Today I got a job. I will be a personal care assi...
Sean O'Grady, Where Have You Gone? I try to tell ...
Thank You Kevin King As summer ended and camp let...
Undocumented Late Saturday / Early Sunday Thoughts...
Lipsey Street (Blaize, Thanks For Picking A 2nd Fl...


© To Whom It May Concern 2002-2010, except for cited or source material.

 

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Maybe One Day, We'll Both Realize That This Is A Dream

The weirdest feeling came over me while in New Orleans. Having just seen my friend's apartments blackened by mold from contaminated water, I got the sudden urge to keep all of my possessions still salvageable. Luckily or providentially, (however you see it) I was able to keep most of my things. I suppose this is a natural instinct, regardless of your geographical position or income status. When the possibility of losing everything one owns happens, one tends to want to start keeping everything his or her hands come into contact with. But while I was sorting through my possessions, I was easily able to part with some stuff. Out of concern for my own health, I decided upon throwing my sheets, egg crate and blanket away. Before I left for the city, I had already made up my mind about throwing these things away. Included in that list of perishable items was my pillow. As one of the last tasks to tackle in the dreaded moving out process, I striped my bed bare. As I was about to leave the city for nearly a year, I grabbed the last few small items that remained in my room. At that point, I stared at my pillow. This is when the weird feeling occurred. I couldn't part with it. Something, whether it be security or nostalgia, compelled me to keep the old worn out thing. I couldn't let go. I told myself that I should throw it away, but I couldn't. I didn't want to leave it. I knew that it wasn't conducive to my health to keep it, but I didn't care. I had to take that pillow with me. I think it's the same response those people who lost everything had. Desperately seeking to save anything that reminded them of the days gone by. The good times. The bad times. The times that made memories. Although this pillow doesn't really give my life the same summation a photo album would, something about it--that day and time--really stirred past feelings toward affection. I had to keep it, and I did. I even slept on it that night. Since I've come back to Melbourne, I've bought a new pillow and case. But I won't forget just how much I had to keep that pillow. It was a unique experience. I guess I understand a little more what the people of my city must have felt like that lonely and scary first week of September, when they were all alone and had nothing left, but what was in their hands.

posted by Jeff Watkins at 12:08 AM

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