Used Furniture

September 2

My sadly distant girlfriend, the inestimable Meg, recently berated me for not writing more journal entries. "Karen writes almost every day," Meg says, "and she's pregnant and married and working. You're an unemployed layabout, so why are your entries so few and far between?"

Fine, fine, point taken.

For the time being me and Scott are sharing a room in the House on Maple Street. We're going to be here for the next month as we desperately look for some other place to live. We have avenues to explore, but housing is expensive and scarce 'roundabout... something will turn up. We'll work something out. Yesterday we worked on putting our room together. Neither of us enjoys living out of boxes, which is what I've been doing for the past month, so despite the fact that this housing situation is only temporary, we did the place up right. There's nice, odd art on the walls, the furniture is well arranged, and so on. I even have a place for my computer, so I can get some non-longhand work done. Yesterday I went around to thrift stores and bought a chair for my "desk" (which is actually a makeshift arrangement composed of lawn furniture and a nightstand) and a frame for my Clarion Readings and Book Signings Poster. Scott bought me a piece from a student art show entitled "Morose Robot" that's science fictional, funny, and somewhat reminiscent of the style of my beloved Burt Aycock... so that's on the wall, too.

My little shrine is put together as well (as that redheaded singer/songwriter Valorie says, "We all build our own altars"). I have, lined up from left to right on the long broad windowsill by my bed, the following items: a pumpkin bomb from the December 1997 production of "Sillyjism," a long performance piece by that erstwhile group of nonspecific artists the Gypsies in Broken-Down Station Wagons; a statue of Ganesha given me by my friend D. upon the completion of my novel The Genius of Deceit;a stuffed Pteranadon given me by my old girlfriend Leigh during my Pterodactyl phase; an airplane-liquor-bottle that contains a poem written for me by my old friend Aubrey Derryberry; the lizard-superhero jar that Adrienne Gwyneth Williams painted for me last Christmas (it's a bit hard to describe-- a mason jar transformed into a work of reptilian heroism that's also really cute); and the coffee mug dear Meg gave me some months past.

It's important to remember the past, I think. That doesn't mean you should exclude the future, or obsess on things long gone, but having touchstones to remind you of the good times, those shining moments, can help one through more difficult passages. Think: "Things were so good then, and so they might well be again!" The objects themselves aren't so important, though of course they mean a lot to me... it's the memories they're keyed to that really matter. The reminder that someone spent time and attention on me, that I went through amazing experiences with people... that's what they're good for. That's why I like my little shrine to loves lost and loves found, friends gone and friends I'll meet again.

We have to create a mythology for our own lives.