microbie

Only dust, cat hair, and small hills of fabric. I've been awake since 2:30; at 3:00 I finally accepted that my mind wasn't going back to sleep for a while. Cleaning the attic has been surprisingly therapeutic. I can't help but think of the Roman Catholic notion of cleansing away sins. Relics of distorted self-images, toxic relationships, and fanciful notions of sophistication fit nicely into a waste bin. Suddenly I have more room for the mementos that provoke soft eyes and quiet smiles.

My mom was surprised that I display my grandmother's photograph, the only photo my grandma didn't cut her face out of. Tonight I've unwrapped more keepsakes from my grandparents' house; there's nothing of monetary value, but I like to remember the sense of tranquility their house wanted to reflect instead of the demons to whom they succumbed.

Also unwrapped are vestiges of my past personalities: a few surviving examples of my earliest collection obsession (unicorns, of course), ocean-themed curios from the 10 years I was certain that I would become a marine biologist, souvenirs marking the 100th general meeting of the American Society for Microbiology.

Maybe I should do this every time I have insomnia, so that I remember my good fortunes rather than lament my weaknesses.