The mind as a chef

It's really crazy what one's mind can cook up. How when history gets further away we conjor up these ideas of the events that occurred. That's why I've always been a firm believer that there are three sides to every story (my side, your side, and what REALLY happened). That's also why I've pretty much kept everything I've ever received, from letters to cards, to gifts to sms's. I know it's not proof but it adds a little insight to my one-sided view of my life and the people involved.

Hoarding is a known problem of which I've never believed I was guilty. But now as I clean out my room and find old packets and high school notes and bottle caps and corks and well, a whole bunch of crap, I just can't seem to bring myself to throw it away. I know the stuff is useless, but some of it has offerred helpful clarity and sometimes I don't know what I might throw away that may be of use someday.

I was typing out some old sms's, most of which from an ex-boyfriend, and it urged me to mild reflection. That urged me to deep reflection and after a while I realised something profound. We made a shitty couple. I really loved him and he loved me, but as individuals. When it came to being boyfriend and girlfriend, we stank. He couldn't give me the security and reassurance I needed and I couldn't give him the freedom and trust he needed. Now, in my head, the memory of what happened is completely different, but if I look at letters/sms's etc it all seems to make sense. Either that or I'm just drudging up excuses as reasons as to why I failed. But I prefer the former.

It's sad really, coz now I figure if we had never gone out, we might have had a good friendship now. Oh well, I guess I'll never know. But that's life. I like life. Yes. I do. Without mistakes, ex-boyfriends and heartache, I'd have nothing to hoard.