In an effort to embarrass myself even more than I do on a regular basis, I have been on a quest to find old photos of myself. This new obsession driving me insane, because I have found a few, but the rest seem to be missing. I have a big plastic storage box of older photos here, but most of them are post-mr b. There are a few from my senior trip to
No, I can’t say it.
But I’m an oversharer and so I have to: femullet.
Why, oh why can’t I find this stuff? It’s not like there weren’t a lot of photos – I’m an only child with a shutterbug dad – there were thousands and I can’t find them. I’ve spent a little time looking at my parents’ house, but I may have to head back down there this weekend. I need those photos.
Tonight, though, I did find a few other treasures. Letters from an old boyfriend who left me brokenhearted (Who I coincidentally came across shortly afterward in someone’s friend list on facebook. I am now officially the creepy ex who friends you on FB. Pity me). Funny notes and letters from Hedge, referring to boyfriends I can’t even remember. A journal I wrote in on the
I also came across the strangest piece of mail I have ever gotten. It was a letter from an ex-boyfriend’s father. One Valentine’s Day – completely out of the blue - I got a card from a longtime on/off boyfriend’s dad. Inside was a 3 page letter which first made small talk, then moved on to the real meat – asking me to get in touch with his son again and try to be friends again. On one hand, it wasn’t all that weird, since I knew him forever and I was really close to the family. But on the other, I was kind of creeped out about it. Strangely, all these years later, reading it with the eyes of a mother, I sort of understood. While he didn’t come out and say it, I got the impression that he and his son were drifting apart – that his son was changing – maybe making some bad decisions, or at least ones that dad didn’t agree with. And he reached out to the only person he could think of who could maybe make a difference. Back then, I read creepy dad, now I read desperate dad. It made me kind of sad, because I never did get in touch with his son. He had a new girlfriend, I had moved on, it was just too weird. Maybe if he had been more direct, I would have done it. I really did care about this boy – he was one of those that leave a little piece with you forever. But I didn’t, because at 17 I just didn’t get it. Now, I do.
Anyway, I will keep looking for those horrible photos (and you will thank me if I find them). Otherwise, I will be stuck embarrassing myself with volumes of angsty, bad poetry that involves heartbreak, betrayal, and giving myself to someone. And really, no one wants that.