This Junk

When I can't sleep I lay in my bed obsessively writing down lists of things that don't matter, and doing budgeting math that I don't stick to. I'll do it for hours. This is the list of all the junk that I still have/wish I had kept/ I am glad is gone.

1. A Piece of metal left over from the car accident that opened up the side of your vehicle like a can, but left you alive.

2. One half of the coconut shell, left over from the coconut we found floating in lake ontario, and that we cracked open and ate there on the shore despite the toxic sludge around us.

3. The Mister T. bobble head I bought for two dollars while in Charlottetown visiting my Grandma after my Grandpa's death.

4. The sugar packets from the dinner we ate at in Quebec, after driving across the country to pick up my Grandpa's car, and unknowingly staying in the same hotel he died in.

5. The altoids container we carried his ashes home in, so part of him could be left at the Fort Frances airport.

6. The dress I wore the night you raped me: I still have it, and I can still wear it, and you can't control me.

7. The professional photographs we got taken of our group of friends, the only girl I miss the most isn't in the photos because everyone but me was fed up with her.

8. The gold chocolate tin you once gave me a Christmas present in, that I now use to store my jewelry.

9. The Spongebob Squarepants note pad that reminds me of my sister every time I see it.

10. The razors underneath my mattress against the wall, next to the cloth used to soak up the blood.

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