Stop, Thief! or A Confession

My office is a mess. I mean it seriously looks like I need to be on "Clean Sweep" or something. I started another round of sort & toss the other day only to arrive at a disturbing realization, the root cause of the clutter--I am a huge emotional pack rat.

Yes, it's true that as an only child I have attachment issues, abandonment issues, separation anxiety. I know this, it comes with the territory. If you're my friend, you also know this, and chances are I've creeped you out because of it on at least one occasion (sorry about that). In addition I have, generally, a shitty memory and a huge fear of forgetting. People, places, smells, tastes. On the other hand, I also possess a keen ability for observing and remembering the lasts of things. The last time we spoke, saw each other, and so on. If you've ever given me a gift, be sure that I still have it. I never throw away letters. I always save your last email. I mean what if I never hear from you again? What if those were your last words and I forget them? What then? Well, for starters I would have a cleaner office, my computer would run faster, and I'd be able to find my desk. For starters.

Anyway, as I began to sort/toss (read: sort/grow misty with nostalgia, refile), I kept coming across things that weren't mine. So, dear friends, I would like to take this opportunity to offer an official apology. Over the years I seem to have amassed a large collection of permanently borrowed (stolen?) merchandise. And some of it belongs to you (Think of this as one of those "Unclaimed Property" websites. You could have millions waiting!). So far I have come across the following:

Lo...I still have your Allison Kraus cd and that black shirt with the cityscape on it. You can come get them anytime. Better yet, let me deliver them.

Amy...The necklace & earrings I borrowed from you in North Carolina are here in a little box on the dresser. I should have returned them when you flew in last summer, but I forgot.

Money...I finally found your Pearl Jam cd. You were right, some of the tracks are worn out. Still, I'll get it back to you in May.

D...I still have The Proletarian Imagination, so to speak. Think I tried to return it once before you fled the country, but no luck. We just sit here and drink coffee for hours. Well, I mostly drink. It mostly sits.

Anthony Carlos...That copy of The Basketball Diaries you handed me when we cleaned out your closet in Terra Haute...was I sposed to keep that? It's still here with the Big Mail.

Laura...The cover tore off Fear of Flying in the mid-90s, so maybe I should just keep it? Let me know. By the way, Erica Jong has a new memoir out. Have you read it?

Alex...For graduation I got you a rubber duck dressed up in a crown. It is still here in the box, but I thought you should know. It's good to be king.

Tommy...I still have the James Taylor's Greatest Hits cd I borrowed during the Terrible Summer. Thank you for everything. Thank you.

Walter...Two years ago at a yard sale I spent a nickel on a homemade mug that says "Walt." I never sent it, but I must tell you it makes a handy pencil cup. Really, I had hoped for one that says "Garv" instead.

At any rate, that's the current body count. If you suspect that something you're missing might have found its way into my office, please send a brief description and I'll add it to the milk carton. But hey, I shouldn't feel that bad, right? I mean, it's not like I stole locks of your hair or something. At least I haven't found any yet. Maybe when I get to the filing cabinet...