Housekeeping

Went through the drawer of my bedside stand last night. Among the expected collection of books, hair ties, bobby pins, chapstick and assorted notes to myself, I came across some letters, cards and journal entries.

Wow.

I thought I burned some of that stuff. It was a bit of a jolt to read it again. Almost had me crying on the floor by my bed.

And while I know that I've been able to move past the rawness of most of those emotions, it's still painful to read back through those moments, to remember what it was like to feel that way, to be reminded why I found it necessary to burn and throw away a lot of that memorabilia in the first place.

But remembering is good, too.

It helps clear up some foggy areas that can rise up when you're trying to remember your reasons for standing your ground in the first place. It's so easy to allow yourself to forget a painful thing, to forget the reasons it was painful. I suppose the difficult part comes in finding the balance between remembering the "why" without constantly regurgitating the anger that went along with it. A tricky balance beam. But I'm working on it.

In completely unrelated news:

No matter how many times I see it, "Secondhand Lions" is always a good flick to curl up with.