We went down to Grafton today to meet my aunt for lunch. We were telling each other quotes when I said to her, “the best way to clear muddy water is to let it be.” To which she responded, ‘yeah, but then you’ll never get closure.’ It really got me thinking, how much closure do we really need and when is it time to just cut our losses?



Spring Cleaning Came Early this Year

I’m sitting on the floor in the entrance of my bedroom and my hallway, listening to ‘6 Weshoosh’ an Egyptian song I fell in love with in travels, sorting through everything I’m finally ready to shed from the past 10 years of young adulthood. Caught somewhere between my new life and my old one I reminisce on all the memories that flood back to me from each outfit:

That Italian jean jacket I found in the men’s bathroom when I was drunk on a random floor of my students house in London 2011; it always reminds me of Finin for some reason, maybe it was his. That green sweater that Christopher Marvin wore out to the bars and threw up all over in Camden Town when him, Heaz and Bryan came to blow out my last week abroad. That yellow polyester shirt I found in grandma’s old bags that I wore the first time I met Adam Shea in summer 2004 at that Perkins where he scammed that free coffee and we kissed goodnight outside his house. A dress I never even remember buying, maybe Maria gave it to me, but the only memory I have is when we took a roadtrip to Vegas and stopped overnight in San Francisco. Marissa wore it out while Maria told people she was the bathroom attendant and only one scared white guy actually gave her $1. That plaid shirt I wore all the time that I got in Minneapolis with Jessie and Andy Kittel at that bourgeois boutique in Uptown after the Noah and the Whale show. I actually just found the photo of me today, jumping in the backyard wearing it with that orange tank top I found in the hallway that Lizzie left behind that spring semester at Steiner Hall.

My favourite outfit that I always in the end refuse to get rid of because it’ll fit again one day and I just don’t want to fucking part with it! Those scarves, those fucking scarves that I bought when I was inspired by Ari Solar’s bestie’s friend photo in the middle of the desert during Burning Man. That turquoise Hello Kitty zippie that I rocked at the rave party when Ashlie McGaw and I drunkenly danced to Soulja Boi in that basement where we spent all those parties in 2008. That sparkly mauve party dress that I turned into a tank top so I could rock it like a tank top at my voter reg job in Eugene, Oregon fall 2012. That ABSOLUTELY HORRIFIC tank top I made for Betsy and mine’s going away party summer 2013 before moving back to Oregon, where I cut up all my old t-shirts from youth and sewed them on like patches, which maybe wasn’t so terrible, since I did end up with that hot bartender after it all 😀

Those terrible scarves from 2005 that we all used to wear around our necks when hardxcore//thrashxcore//anythingxcore was cool. ALL of the scarves from college that I bought in St. Mark’s Place when I went through my hipster phase fall 2008. ALL of the scarves and hats Jessie and I found lying around campus spring 2009. Those jeans I used to wear to Naomi’s house parties, and Naomi, wow, someone I don’t think about too often, but that flashes me back to ALL of those hotel parties with student government, jolly green giant, pink fucking boots, Oshkosh, Kenosha, Richland Center. We carry all these memories with us. My senior prom dress that I wore to Lutheran High prom 2006 with Christopher Marvin, when I had my wisdom teeth removed only on one side and half my face looked like a chipmunk. That green plaid shirt that Mamaro hated on the rack but loved on me, reminds me of always harassing Josh Mann at the GA in Stevens Point back when Megan and Mark were dating. That Day of Silence t-shirt the students designed for 4/20/12 and all the events that took place after work that day: Christian Moody, shots, beer, Daniel, breakfast nook party, ‘we’re going to the butte, daaaniieell!!’, never go to the butte, end up at some under the sea mario party at some bar that ends in me smoking cigarillos on the front lawn of my house with Kunu.

That ridiculous fuschia dress I ripped the arms off and rocked like a skirt under my clothes. I’ll always remember Hannah Cook telling me it wasn’t fair that I could wear anything I wanted and people would just say, ‘oh, that’s just Libby, but if Hannah does it they’ll be like, ‘what’s wrong with you, Hannah?” I don’t know where the book went, but half of the book cover to my ex’s copy of Brave New World, the only thing that still exists of him. Lucas Worley’s sweater that kept me warm on the walk home after we madeout when I was running from the cops. Thanks Doug!

A few things that maybe never were mine and a few more that never felt like they were mine, returning them all to the ether so they can find their own place in this crazy mixed up world<333