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The Importance of Absurdity
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
I've decided that in the best interest of the law, politics and the United States judicial system, I needed to delete an earlier post concerning a certain murder trial. I've found that too many "outsiders" have stumbled here while researching this case. It's fine for all the "regulars" to read my thoughts on the case and such, but I don't feel like it needs to be out for the general public to read right now. So, as much as I liked that post, it's now gone and I will no longer discuss the case here, where the entire world can read it.
- thoughts provided by Katey Orr @ 9:59 PM
Talk about extreme sadness...my brother moved around the furniture in his room today. Not that he's not allowed to do that or anything. He totally is. It's his room, his furniture and why not move it all around while there's nothing in it, especially since it's been in the same place for at least 5 or so years. Makes sense, right? Except that it's killing me. When he's not here, his room is my escape. I know that sounds wierd, since one's own room is generally one's escape, but I often need to escape from my room. I have some outstandingly wonderful memories from the old setup. I've had countless phone conversations in there. I mean, that's where I let everything out. If I was talking to Wendy, I'd curl up on the desk. If I was talking to Jessica or Anna, I'd stretch out on the bed. I can think of at least 3 or 4 huge (importance wise) phone conversations, ones that I'll specifically remember for a long time, that have taken place in that room in the past 2 or 3 months alone. In fact, there's only been 2 of such convo's this calender year that haven't taken place in that room. Jessica and I have spent countless nights in there, talking 'til 4am, laughing our arses off, nearly breaking into tears. The Febreeze joke? Yup, definitely came from looking out that window while laying in bed laughing at 3:30 in the morning. The "Russian" dance? Vanilla Ice? Also from that room.
And it's not like the room is gone. It's still there. Everything's still in it. The bed, the desk, the bookshelf, the window (though, the phone's currently in my room). But I can no longer lay on the bed and look out the window. Or sit on the desk and talk on the phone. It feels foreign to me now, the room that defined my comfort. It's as though all those memories have been wiped away. There's a new slate to be filled with memories. And as much as I'd love to do so, I feel pressed for time. I'll never again be able to fill that room with the love and laughter that it once held. Come back my dear room, come back.
- thoughts provided by Katey Orr @ 9:52 PM