Old stuff

Emotions are so weird. I'm going through every box that has papers and files that are more or less (usually less as in DUMPED IN A BOX) organized and I'm throwing out all the papers from when I was with Eddie who died in 1990. And I'm crying. I don't ever think about him, really, or once in a while when there's something that connects to something that's specifically him. Like having meat, vegetable, and starch on a plate because that's how his cuban immigrant brain decided Americans should eat. But it hasn't been sad for a long time. I guess it's because the last time I went though this stuff was after he died and it was all recent and raw.

The weirdest thing is that I can smell him, the distinct memory of what he smelled like to sleep snuggled up with and the smell in the clothes that he'd worn but that I didn't launder and would periodically bury my face in when I needed a good hard cry after he died. Until I put them all in plastic bags and donated them and the collection guy held me while I sobbed for the longest time before I could leave.

Probably a good lesson for keeping up with these sorts of things.