Tangled up

I recently ran across some pictures. You know the kind, the ones you wish someone else could deal with in the months after a breakup? Depending on the length and overall quality of the relationship, there are many pictures of you and your ex back when you were happy. I have five fucking years of pictures, most of those years were happy. So many pix were of my ex's family, ugh. I knew I was going to have to deal with this box of unfiled memories at some point, and I decided that since I dislike this time of year already, why not just bite the bullet and sort through them now?
Oh yeah.
'Cause I have my period, it's about a week before christmas...what better time to do this?
This was not a great idea.

But I am done now. The pictures, the windchime he bought me for christmas in 2002, rocks we picked up when we escaped from his family during summer trips to the beach, beads I had set aside for a bracelet I was going to make for him, the tiny bronze charm that held a lump of amber resin which he gave me when we first were dating, it's all packed up in a big white trash bag in a corner of my living room. I'm sending the pictures to him, or I will eventually. I wasn't a bitch. I only put in the pictures of him or his family that didn't have me in them. I figured I don't have a right to decide what to do with those because it is really just by accident that I have them in the first place. The accident being my tendency to be the one to store, organize, and arrange the day to day details of the relationships I am in.I did find some nice pictures that made me smile in there. Pictures of the neighborhood kids one halloween when we carved pumpkins. Pictures of my brother and sister goofing around with a thanksgiving turkey decoration made out of a pineapple. Pictures of my wonderful cat Max. Pictures of old friends who have moved away but who I still think of fondly. Pictures of me to remind me I am the reliable constant in my life, that I was worthy of such an amazing and great love and was capable of feeling complete joy. It gives me hope that I will be trusting enough at some point to be able to feel these things again without so many sharp and pointy reservations.

Addendum (6:00 PM): Just talked to little brother. He's coming down for christmas he says. I warned him "Look I'm probably not doing a tree this year." He replied "No bush?" "Yeah, no bush. I don't think I can this year..." I said, quickly weighing whether or not to blame it on my tiny apartment or tell him of my fear that a tree and/or the ornaments will give me a complete breakdown. He interrupted my musings to say "It's ok. I understand. Sometimes it's a pain to have to pick your bush." Then he promised to call me later, hustling off the phone to finish cooking dinner for a friend whose mother just died. Oh I do love my little brother.