For some reason I am feeling belligerent. I want to start a fight. Not some pansy-ass LJ drama passive aggressive thing, I want to punch someone.

Don't really know why.

ANYHOW. Cleaning Rachael's room, which used to be my room, there's enough of my stuff in there to still call it my room except that's not me anymore. That's not who I am. God, I used to be such a dorkface. Beanie Babies everywhere, w0e, and clippings from Seventeen and other mind-melting insipid magazines. Notes from high school, middle school even. Why people confide in me I'll never know. Like David in middle school. Was his name David, even? Dated Lexie for a while. I don't remember, it might have been Jonathan. He didn't sign his note, but I can remember his face just from the note, the way he used to always get so excited about episodes of Felicity and Dawson's Creek.

God, I feel old. I found other things, like my first bottles of perfume, purchased at Afterthoughts in the Palisades Mall. Oh, I remember. Sniffing them, yeah, walking through Suffern Middle School's halls, sneaking off to cry after so many things in the auditorium. Little "thank you" cards from my teachers, when did I give them chocolate? The English teacher I adored, the Science teacher I was scared of and fascinated by at the same time. (Like Snape, but more Jewish, I realize in retrospect. Oh, roffles.) Little glass bottles I was always afraid of breaking. "Hyper," "Crazy," "Daring", such optimistic names, 'wear us and you'll get right past your shyness, your dullness, come on, put us on!'

An old feather. Raven? Crow? Dirty seagull? I don't know, but Oreo's fascinated with it. Such a strange kitty. I come home and find her up on my loft bed, how the hell she gets up there I don't know. Coming up to me, mewing, deigning to be petted for a moment and then struggling out of my arms to find someplace in the house to hide.

Cleaning, yes. I found my Chucks, the first pair I ever owned, bought in New York City on a high school field trip. Pale blue high-tops, laces traded for lilac ones from an old pair of roller skates. Not rollerblades, no, skated, foursquare wheels and heaviness. Size 11 cause that's all they had, a size or two too large for me but I wore them anyhow and loved them. Until they got lost, eaten by the closet, the only pair of shoes I've found both of in there yet.

Other things, pictures, letters, cards signed by Nana and Grandma that I'm so glad now I didn't throw away. The whole detritus of the girl I was in high school, tucked away in a closet and stuffed under a bed. And I'm pulling her out, exhuming her, poking through her bones and throwing half of them away to rebury the rest somewhere new.


...oh, fuck, is it snowing? Fuck.