Preparations for 2010

Melissa, Brooklyn

Cleaning my car, I shed my 2010 home of years of dirt. Lost memories of cigarette butts, change, broken cd's, ex-boyfriend's business cards, love letters and pens. I save the pens and change. Store away the love letter. Taking everything from my car into my little room here at my grandparent's, I seperate storage from travel luggage. Necessities. Ex-lovers t-shirts from cameras. I notice that everything I own has a memory attached. Inadvertently or directly coming from someone else. I'm trying desperately to shed myself of other people, to rid myself of as many attachments as possible.

Hair spray left at my place by a girl who treated me like shit, a reminder that most girls, they don't see other girls as "wing-men" like guys do, they see them as competition. A burden, though a necessity. Tattoo-goo given by an old roommate who abandoned me, harshly but perhaps fairly. Clothes from the best friend I ever had, who grew tired of my problems and disappeared from my life, sticking with me long after she should have. Movie stubs from movies with could-be boyfriends. Echoes of heartache and arguments spurred by a boot, one missing, given to me by my first boyfriend.

And it goes on and on and on.

But I save a few little pieces of paper, I hoard my journals, I tuck pictures away. Memories.

I left the dozens of parking stubs on my dashboard to remember why I left Syracuse, of partying too much and trying too hard. The dried up flowers that have been there for years, I leave them there, too. They're from Nell, they have a story, too, but they remind me of her. Of my own romanticism, of her quietness. They remind me of femininity and gentleness. And empty promises. And my failure at being a good friend.

Sorting through clothes is the hardest part. I've always been one to know that clothing is the first way to express yourself. Your image. What to keep? aka: Who am I? A leather high-wasted skirt makes it into my suitcase next to long Gunne Sax dresses. My summer clothes, I'm more interested in. Sheer flowing tops, summer dresses and flouncy skirts. Lace. But I have beautiful winter dresses, as well.

Though I have no heals anymore, which is a pain.

Lately I've just been putting on the layers and forgetting the style part, all I care about is being warm and comfortable and not really thinking about what Outfit I'm going to put together. Besides, I'm sick of all my clothes.

Just eight hours to go until this horrible year is over.

Saturday morning, I start my life the way I've dreamed it for years: On the Road.

May sound tacky as fuck, but you know you wish you were doing it, too.