A response to the previous entry from a very good friend.

Ahoy, Jean!

Once again, AOL says you don't want me posting to your journal. So,
after several failed attempts to please the AOL gods, I submit this
to you via email.

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Y'know, sometimes reading you is difficult, because I often closely
identify with where you're at and how you're feeling. This is one of
those sometimes. A cringe-inducing sometime.

My own ribs tightened up reading about your ties to your stuff and the
feelings, memories, it represents. More stuff and things than any one
person ever needs to have, hauled around one place to the next, but I
felt I couldn't let it go. To me, the letting it go was tantamount to
trucking Mom, my grandparents, certain old loves out to the landfill. I
discovered that I had kept nearly every bit of correspondence, no
matter how inane, in addition to the usual cargo of clothes and
ornaments, books and photos, ancient bedding and dusty tools. Things I
never used, never read, never brought into the light of day. But
their physical presence enabled me (I thought) to maintain my slipping
memories. The memories might fail, but the love never does.

It took the better part of a summer, going through these things. Most
of them were jettisoned: donated to the library yard sale, given to
Goodwill, passed out to friends or just tossed. Difficult though it
was - there was a lot of remembrance, explanation, anecdotes, tall
tales
and bleary-eyed snuffling - I felt liberated when the last empty box
was shredded. I kept a few select doo dads, but unless the item in
question has usable life (like Grandpa's tools, which I use nearly
every day now that I have them out of storage), I chose to let the
stuff go. It was a wonderfully freeing experience, right up until my
brother left his abusive marriage and passed on all the family stuff he
had in his house back to me. *sigh* Now the cellar is full of furniture
and boxes again, all of which need to be sorted through. I don't dread
it this time, because when I tossed through the last load, I never lost
the love.

You wrote: "What am I missing?  I'm not rich or into dress up, but I
have what I need and a bit to share.  Where do I fail?"

You're missing nothing. You're bright - scary bright - funny,
sensitive, considerate, generous of both heart and spirit, aware of
both self and others. If you fail at all, my friend, it is in selling
yourself short, settling for will-do instead of demanding your due.
That so-and-so doesn't respond to your entreaties; that whomeverthehell
manipulates your feelings to keep you handy for feeding her ego; that
whassherface merely uses you at her convenience does not reflect
anything wrong with you, Jean. That's them. Their bullshit. Their
behavior. All of us have enough baggage of our own without readily
volunteering to porter that of our would-be lovers.

You're nobody's bell hop, babe. Not even for the people whose stuff
you're still carting around. Believe it.

Unity87