graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tripping on memories of Unicorns in the Sky Suddenly I can write again. Funny. I've mentioned before, I'm a taurus who hates change. I like it after someone pushes me into it, I'm just not good at initiating it. That's changing. I hate having "stuff." I have a lot of stuff. I'm sentimental. I think I've saved nearly every letter/card that my Dad has sent to me since college. On top of that, people seem to feel compelled to give me trinkets. Toys or things that have reminded me of them. Paintings they've painted for me. Signs they've stolen for me. You name it. I've chipping away at getting rid of this stuff. I don't want stuff anymore. So every night, I come up to my room and reevaluate the same items over and over. I try to recycle at least 5 items a night. I'm getting there, but it's hard. Some of these things, I sit here and wonder if there's a moratorium on how long I have to hold onto them. Like a gift I've never used. I don't want to be called out on anyone if they stop by and ask about it. All of this is leading to the Great Cleanout. My parents are putting the house I grew up in, on the market this Spring. My parents have lived in that house for 40 years. I spent my entire life growing up in that house. Fortunately, since I left at 18 and never came home, my Dad slowly chipped away at my belongings. I helped, on vacations, tossing out stuff but he did the bulk of it. And I appreciate it because frankly, I can find a poignant memory in a chipped mussel shell. When I was home for Thanksgiving, I saw that my Dad had tossed all of my stuffed animals. I was happy about that, I never did like stuffed animals. I had one bear that I slept with until I was 7 or 8, because I was afraid of the dark. After I gave that bear up, I never felt akin to another stuffed thing. Every birthday or christmas, I would receive these stuffed toys and shove them onto a shelf or a bookcase, they never even earned a spot on my bed. I wanted those things gone from the moment they entered my life, but I didn't want to offend the gift givers. There was just one I had to rescue from the garbage: Fuzzy Pink Bunny. Fuzzy Pink Bunny, was not your average stuffed animal. First of all, it was initially my brother's and then mine - so it has unisex appeal, which is pretty dope for a stuffed animal. Second, fuzzy pink bunny is a cheap looking piece of shite stuffed animal. It doesn't even remotely resemble a bunny. It doesn't resemble anything I've ever seen in the animal kingdom. Furthermore, he's wearing massive blue eyeshadow and lush fake lashes, like a drag version of the stuffed animal kingdom and I'll tell you - fuzzy pink bunny was so filthy dirty when I recieved him, I never even noticed that my beloved was a drag queen until I washed it last weekend. I wonder if my brother ever knew? That would explain a few things... Suddenly, my entire life came into perspective. I mean, is it any wonder that I broke for the Bright Lights in the Big City as soon as possible when I spent my formative years attached to a 70's-era pioneer of Wigstock? Frankly, Fuzzy Pink Bunny is so gay, when I look at him now, I wouldn't be surprised if he was the mascot of the Stonewall riots. Not that there's anything wrong with that. And I remembered that the only other animal I liked was the blue horse I received for my 7th birthday. Fuzzy Pink Bunny and the Blue Pony. Don't ask me what color the sky was in my world growing up. I vividly remember swearing up and down that I saw purple and pink and rainbow unicorns galloping across the afternoon skies. God, I wish I could still see unicorns. Maybe that's what's wrong with me now. 10:12 p.m. - 2005-11-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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