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red clay

I don't think I was present for most of my childhood. I always seem to believe that I have a good memory. Except for that I can barely remember anything.

Christine remembered that I like red clay. Its true. I'd never think of having a preference, it was weird to have it acknowledge; truer than I knew. I was telling her about trying to find a place to live and how I don't feel like I've ever had a place to live. I was thinking about all my stuff in boxes, or somewhere other than where I am, or in a pile, or being thrown around. And I said, "my things are always being thrown around". I was thinking about Mollie and how she said I'd be better off if I took care of my things. And--in a flash--I remembered that I used to like blown glass.

I would beg for blown glass at Disneyland, or whatever, or buy it at the glass show. I was running on the tredmill nest to Christine, seeing the tacky purple and clear of the 80's and the waxy opaque of the 40's, and having the visceral memory of having "my stuff thown around". And maybe I don't remember collecting, because, what wasn't broken, mostly was chipped. And I didn't want it broken. so I threw it away. And I also remember the heaviness of my bedroom furniture. the too thick and too dark wood. And that is why I have always been mad at Mollie. Yes---If only I took better care of my things....

It could also be true that I learned to not respect my things in that way. To not care, because it eventually will go. But mostly the response was just to keep going with whatever is still standing. And I truly believed that was normal. I remember the first time mollie bitched me out. She was criticizing my driving. She had directed me to turn down an ally to get to her place sooner. From her direction, I understood where I was trying to get, so I went around the block. The ally was too dark for me. She criticized me for wasting time, but we weren't even in a hurry. I told her it didnt matter, and she said my driving was always poor. I'm sure this is true. We took a driving trip once through the desert and she didnt bring her glasses so she couldnt do any of the driving. but she told me where to go.

Im starting to wonder that maybe my stuff gets broken--not because I need to take better care of it--but because someone threw it against the wall. That maybe my actions need to be more about getting my stuff my heart, whatever, away from people who don't hold it right.

I woke up this morning somehow shifted. For the first time in a while, not angry. Softened to Camilla and Ashley. Understanding something somehow and somehow compassion. There is somehow compassion in the ability to chose. the right to leave what doesnt feel good and find what does. I think so many people think that's impossible. something feeling good. So they try to control people who are unapologetically what they are. Stupid, blind, Imperfect and still going. Mollie never seemed comfortable with my emotions. and that's okay. We all choose the size of the world we live in and its rules.

Today, I somehow woke up to the mist I used to wake to. And memory of smells. and it just was. And to the anger so gently spread in little bits that it is no one's fault to hold it all; not even mine. And a softness that could be so easily smashed by any of those I softened to. So I need to stay away.

A few weeks ago, Jodi said she wondered what happened to all the money people owed. where is it floating? where does it go? That was after and Christian finally succeeded in taking so much, and all there was to do was let go. I know the same question has been asked a million times before in regard to socks. And I wondered it today in terms of people. Where does that love go? The love I had for Aaron--was it an illusion all along? did it disappear? Or Ashley; I listened to a song she used to play in class. Or the last time I was in New York and it was good, or watching movies on a laptop in mollies twin bed. where does it go.

Im sure you remember many places that no longer exist as though you could go there now. My mom's house. My grandma's house. Somehow Marisa's particular rooms stick in my mind, my grand aunts house in idaho that my uncle built. and its built basement and the smell of the room where I read the myth book when I was four. Stacy's car. As though you could just go back there now. And everything would be in place and everyone would be there. These places certainly exist somewhere.

And what about the things I dont remember? where do they go, till they come back in pieces? A lot has come up lately. I watched a movie about rape and how it scares away your spirit animal and how you have to show the village the heart of the predator in order for your animal to come back. And I cried because I knew the feeling of losing my spirit animal and losing the village and not being able to bring back the heart.

These things live somewhere that we can accidentally step back into. in invisible rivers or cycles that come back around. Where all the sudden you remember you get told you clay preference has been that way since you were 8 and you used to collect glass. and that some people where not what they seemed, and some people were more what they seemed than you could let yourself look at.

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