T-Shirts

Currently I am in the process of moving out. 

That may not seem like a big deal… afterall, I have lived in 6 places in 6 years, and pretty soon it will be 7 places in 7 years. However, this move is different. You must understand that I have a lot of… things. I take up quite a bit of space. Most of the stuff I can do without but choose to have around because getting rid of things requires time and energy; both of which I lack a considerable amount of. You must next understand that in September I will be moving myself, and a “portion” of my belongings, into a trailer, to be shared with some unknown roommate. This roommate does not love me, therefore, they do not love my stuff. So, it has to go. I honestly have no problem with that. In fact, I relish in the fact that I will be living a bit more free.

Today, however, I had trouble letting go. 

I have been collecting T-shirts for about 12 years. I could easily go a couple months without doing laundry for track practice, if only I had enough socks. Over the years, especially the last two, I have been aware that my love affair with my tightly rolled tees crammed into very little space, would eventually come to an end. They are stained from the track and from my sweat, and most have a bit of leftover mascara on the shoulders from when I would wipe my face at practice. They are a bit grungy, but I love them for it. 

I went through the piles one at a time. Unfolding each one, bringing it to my face and letting the memories sink in. Some memories sweet, others bitter. As I was going through the process I realized that I was borderline neurotic… who does this?? Who gets all emo about a T-shirt collection?? I quickly got over feeling silly and continued in my nostalgia.

I was not quite ready to separate them into piles, ranking my memories, but I knew it had to be done. There were three stacks. One to continue wearing, one to be butchered and turned into my “t-shirt quilt,” and one to find other body to cover.

Today, I sent the third pile away. I miss them. I miss the memories that I thought about each time I put them on. Its weird, I realize, but I am sad.

I think the sadness may be coming from the parallel to my current life. I like what I have, but I must give it up in order to be more functional in the next stage. Part of it must go away forever, and part will remain in use. Another part will change and be altered, not ever again to be used in the same way. Yet the memory will remain, and it will affect me just the same.