So, where were we?
I feel like Rip van Wrinkle, newly awakened after a million years sleepwalking. But then time has no meaning except for that which we give it, and pastpresentfuture are actually just waypoints on the selfsame continuum. But then again, as the old song goes, “today is only yesterday’s tomo-o-row”. So between that and the black holes, these 7 months of silence were actually the gestatory pause for another round of codswallop. Are we ready?!?
So as you were saying, sentimental. Again, we have a prime example of how we each interpret things differently, on account of past life experiences, DNA hardcoding, childhood conditioning, Webster’s definitive definitions and last night’s second helping of chocolate mud cake.
Sentimental, to me, is the equivalent of a lifetime supply of Kleenex; I consume 20 cartons a week watching reruns of bad movies on TV, watching the news, watching Animal Planet and Discovery channel and National Geographic. All of it makes me weep. Blocked sinuses? Watch TV. Clears ‘em like magic.
Sentimental is saving all the giftwrapping and all those little cards with precious little messages till you need another chest of drawers to house them. Of course, you recycle some of that giftwrap, but mostly it sits there and chokes up the chi, which as we all know, is just bad feng shui.
Sentimental is never having thrown out a single letter, postcard or telegram (yes, remember those?!?) you ever received, and storing them in shoeboxes till the silverfish demolish them for you because you couldn’t bear to throw them out. Each time I’ve attacked the odd shoebox and tossed out stuff from people I lost touch with in kindergarten, I’ve gone into a decline, so now I just leave those shoeboxes alone.
I’m not even going into that old-photographs-in-shoeboxes place…where once you get started trying to abortively “sort” them, you will get sucked in for the next 3 weeks riffling through them and believe me, you will emerge with as many photos in as many shoeboxes, in as much of a mess.
Sentimental is also mawkish, a word I have always loved. And when you love a word, you become that word. No shame in that. I am mawkish, sappy, slushy, mushy, maudlin, corny, schmaltzy and weepy. It keeps the lachrymals clear, and as you bob along on the ocean of emotions, you realize it’s good to have them. The alternative is an arid and barren landscape where we would shrivel up and die, because we're 80% water and dehydration kills. Vive la schmaltz!
So as you were saying, sentimental. Again, we have a prime example of how we each interpret things differently, on account of past life experiences, DNA hardcoding, childhood conditioning, Webster’s definitive definitions and last night’s second helping of chocolate mud cake.
Sentimental, to me, is the equivalent of a lifetime supply of Kleenex; I consume 20 cartons a week watching reruns of bad movies on TV, watching the news, watching Animal Planet and Discovery channel and National Geographic. All of it makes me weep. Blocked sinuses? Watch TV. Clears ‘em like magic.
Sentimental is saving all the giftwrapping and all those little cards with precious little messages till you need another chest of drawers to house them. Of course, you recycle some of that giftwrap, but mostly it sits there and chokes up the chi, which as we all know, is just bad feng shui.
Sentimental is never having thrown out a single letter, postcard or telegram (yes, remember those?!?) you ever received, and storing them in shoeboxes till the silverfish demolish them for you because you couldn’t bear to throw them out. Each time I’ve attacked the odd shoebox and tossed out stuff from people I lost touch with in kindergarten, I’ve gone into a decline, so now I just leave those shoeboxes alone.
I’m not even going into that old-photographs-in-shoeboxes place…where once you get started trying to abortively “sort” them, you will get sucked in for the next 3 weeks riffling through them and believe me, you will emerge with as many photos in as many shoeboxes, in as much of a mess.
Sentimental is also mawkish, a word I have always loved. And when you love a word, you become that word. No shame in that. I am mawkish, sappy, slushy, mushy, maudlin, corny, schmaltzy and weepy. It keeps the lachrymals clear, and as you bob along on the ocean of emotions, you realize it’s good to have them. The alternative is an arid and barren landscape where we would shrivel up and die, because we're 80% water and dehydration kills. Vive la schmaltz!
posted by Priya Tuli at 9:02 pm
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