My offering to Mortified lacks the journals. I lost them through time. To fire, trash heaps, left behind and missed greatly. I barely have photos of past times. But I’ve always had this blue trunk of …stuff. I started it in high school, during the mid to late eighties. I have moved it across statelines and added many stickers along the way. recently I was reunited with it from storage. There it was. I was glad it was still around. I held back for a whole afternoon to go through it‘s content. it seems more slight than I remembered, or wanted to, even if it is jam packed.
The trunk itself.
One of my art class sketches. They are horribly eighties. Totally half assed. Drug induced. Tennagery.
A school dance picture. Maybe group or maybe the most hideous one of all time, I could really get Mortified.
Matchbook that says “Enjoy Life“ on one side and “eat out more often” on the other. Yeah, nasty.
the bud light keg cap or a paper beer label that’s been peeled clean and completely off it’s bottle ( which meant….).
Zine/ flyers by friends of mine
Cassette cover art and empty cases. music was a pretty big deal to me. sigh, The walkman. Personal savior.
The typewritten locker list from Pasco high with all the names of bands I thought were good, cool, or I should, like no matter if I never heard them. I highlighted some that I think were what I acquired, and more lines and stars without a key. The bands are completely new waver punk circa 1985.
The plastic bag filled with san Francisco stuff, not teenagery, from aardvarks on haight but contains funny stuff, I was still a kid in many ways.
A piece of a senior year boyfriend’s flannel.
A few yearbooks and journals are there, but those are only funny to me. Nothing really juicy. Except juicy bits from half of 1986 into 1987.
But most intriguing is the large mail envelopes marked with names, not years. The names of past girlfriends – and boyfriends- eras. it’s all I have kept of what’s left of them. I plan on keeping it as long as I can. Inside each pouch are trinkets of all kinds, then letters or notes. There was a flushing gushing joy when I received something in the mail. Sigh, again. Nostalgia.
I always loved to write, keep in touch, even if we were in the same room. I also have been a packrat, knowing I’d want to see these things again, even if it made no sense to keep them until I was in my late thirties.
There are many notes once passed around at school.
The long letters from a Hawaiian mormon plantation.
Girlfriends
Jael
Doodles.
Mine would have to be more show and tell rather than my journals. Those are gone daddy gone.
