KRISTOFF
TRAVEL
due April 20
TRAVEL
due April 20
That's tomorrow. Uhhuh. Everyone and their mom probably wanted to apply and then didn't because college is more important than going on a trip with the pulitzer prize winning columnist to africa. This post-it was up for so long, and I didn't even try to think of what I would have written as a submission. I don't see the sense of making myself a reminder that I must have looked at--consciously looked at and absorbed--about twice in four weeks. I should stop doing that. I need to find a way to trick myself into remembering things.
I have hundreds of these reminders growing up the sides of my room--objects meant to remind me of european countries i visited when i was too young, of rock and roll stars i never met, of best friends and close friends and friends, of paintings i once stared at for too long, of concerts that are impossible to recreate, of nights at shitty hotel dance floors wearing orchid corsages and my mothers' jewelery. But I've seen them so many times that I don't look and them and feel the chill of prague, or the fatigue of grad night as i leaned on amanda's shoulder, or the inescapable awe you have when you pass by a dali sketch or a romare bearden collage or a garden on the hills above los angeles. The picture doesn't bring back the peace as I brushed up against his pink tie, or the tears I tried to hold back after graduation as I posed sandwiched between adam and justin.
Should I leave my walls blank and instead try to recall these moments without visual aides that don't even help, because once I've glanced at them for a week, for the other seven months they're only pretty "reminders" not doing their jobs? They've all just become a background, the companion I have in my tiny single, yet they're more like wallpaper whose pattern you can look at for hours upon hours of lone idleness but have no meaning--they're just lines or flowers or dots. I just find it crazy how one becomes detached even from one's own memories staring them in the face, only because they've been there too long. I don't like that this happens.
It's silly to think that anyone who has the same amount of reminders of you on his or her space is thinking of you every time they see your smile or hair or feet on their wall. Hmm
I have hundreds of these reminders growing up the sides of my room--objects meant to remind me of european countries i visited when i was too young, of rock and roll stars i never met, of best friends and close friends and friends, of paintings i once stared at for too long, of concerts that are impossible to recreate, of nights at shitty hotel dance floors wearing orchid corsages and my mothers' jewelery. But I've seen them so many times that I don't look and them and feel the chill of prague, or the fatigue of grad night as i leaned on amanda's shoulder, or the inescapable awe you have when you pass by a dali sketch or a romare bearden collage or a garden on the hills above los angeles. The picture doesn't bring back the peace as I brushed up against his pink tie, or the tears I tried to hold back after graduation as I posed sandwiched between adam and justin.
Should I leave my walls blank and instead try to recall these moments without visual aides that don't even help, because once I've glanced at them for a week, for the other seven months they're only pretty "reminders" not doing their jobs? They've all just become a background, the companion I have in my tiny single, yet they're more like wallpaper whose pattern you can look at for hours upon hours of lone idleness but have no meaning--they're just lines or flowers or dots. I just find it crazy how one becomes detached even from one's own memories staring them in the face, only because they've been there too long. I don't like that this happens.
It's silly to think that anyone who has the same amount of reminders of you on his or her space is thinking of you every time they see your smile or hair or feet on their wall. Hmm
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