The other night, I had a conversation with a friend about someone we know who broke up with her fiance to be with guy who would become her husband. I guess she ripped up the old correspondence and such and put that part of her life behind her.

I never much thought about throwing stuff out, because I’m such a packrat, and sentimental sap that I am I tend to hold on to every card and letter I have ever gotten.

But, now I’m fixing to go. Fixing to start something new, and the new life would be better served traveling light. How light, though? I’ve taken pictures most all of my life, and I don’t want to give up those photographs.

I started pasting some old pics into a scrapbook, and then I stopped. I thought what the fuck do I need a scrap book of the guy with whom I spent five years, who proved himself one of the meanest people I ever met. I have piles and piles of pictures of him, his kids and myself, ultimately looking awkward trying to fit.

It’s amazing when you flip through old pictures and see yourself from that distance.

One day a while back, M. was still in Cambridge and looked through a stack of the same Polaroids I was debating whether to paste into a scrapbook tonight. He saw me at the distance I saw tonight and let me know that I didn’t fit in to the world he saw in those pictures.

I can understand why our friend ripped up her old love letters.