the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
3.28.2005
A Quick Commentary and an Airing Out of Dirty Laundry.
Ever since my mom bought one of those front-loading washing machines with the little glass window on front, and a team of pint-sized burly Mexican men lovingly rolled it into our home, I've taken to sitting on a pile of dirty clothes, listening to the soothing wet cyclical nose of "swobb-swobb-swobb," and watching the sudsy mess of colors fly around and around inside.
Yesterday, I was at my parents' house doing just that very thing. I was perched atop a pile of dirty whites, watching my favorite red t-shirt struggle to reach the front of the window, finally make it, only to get sucked right back into the dark recesses of the swirling Kenmore vortex.
And as I sat there, amidst dirty socks and towels and underwear, with hot tears running down my face and my stomach tied into knots, I realized that going through a particularly painful breakup is much like getting thrown into the wash. As much as we'd like to emerge clean, fresh, and static cling-free, ready for the next element coming our way, the reality of the situation is that, in essence, we're really just literally getting the fucking shit beaten out of us -- thrown about a dizzying spin while drowning in harsh bubbles that promise to make us springtime fresh. The more we enter this vicious, violent cycle, the more often we emerge beaten, worn, and weary -- sometimes faded to the point of non-recognition.
Yes, washing clothes gets rid of the evidence of past human contact: the stains, the sweat, the tears, albeit temporarily -- but maybe it's those very things that should be held closest as they hold the memories of what could have been the best times of our lives. At the same time, however, I don't want to submit to meticulously packing these things away in a box in the attic like an old, dirty, worn wedding dress, to be happened upon years later, only to find that moths have eaten away at the pretty lace and that a nest of mice had torn into the creamy white bodice, leaving it decayed, destroyed.
So yeah. I was having these awfully metaphorical and sentimental thoughts while crying silently on a pile of dirty clothes in front of the washing machine, when my mom walks in, looks at my now-startled, tear-streaked face, and shrieks at me, "Yaejina, what you doing? ::points to washing machine:: What, you watching sad movie now? Get out and watch Incredibles with Umma."
And so I got up and crawled onto the sofa with my mom to watch The Incredibles. And yes, it was incredible.
[Peek-a-Foo]