It’s past midnight and I can’t sleep. I’m also too tired to write anything substantial.
I went through my jewelry today, which I haven’t done in a few years. I made an inventory, cleaned all the good stuff, polished the silver, and gave away the pieces I do not or will not wear.
These are some of the things from my jewelry box:
Buffalo nickles that I’ve had since I was a child. I don’t care about coins, but I like these:
This lovely silver spoon was inexplicably given to me as I was leaving his apartment by my former client, Mr. Crush, aka Sad Divorced Dad, our favorite follower of postmodern poetry and fan of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest (you can read about Mr. Crush here1, here2, and here3). Probably the most lonely and emotionally needy client I had in the last year. Three sessions was all I could handle. Too bad, because he has a very prestigious job in publishing and he repeatedly offered his assistance. Alas, it came with too many strings. Fucking him and being a fun date once a week would have been fine, but the guy was a hurt, needy black hole with boundaries issues.
He gave me the spoon on a whim, for no apparent reason. I was standing at the door with my gear bag over my shoulder when he ran into his kitchen and came out with the spoon. He said it was family silverware. It has his initials on the back of the handle.
“Uh, are you sure you want to break up a set?” I asked, confused.
He cocked his head to the side: “Well, it’s not the only set, of course.”
I kept it because it’s pretty, but I don’t know what to do with it. I guess I could eat with it, but it seems too fancy to eat with.
|Mr. Crush’s spoon|
|I miss Timmy.|
|Take it and run.|