what this girl needed back yonder

i feel compelled to explain that last post, for reasons that escape me. maybe because i can't really bring words to anything else. yesterday, the day before, i don't even know what day anymore, i was looking for an old almost-forgotten tape, which meant dragging the "suitcases" that house such things out of the back of my closet. it's been a while since those dusty things saw daylight, and i found myself ticking off sources and reasons... "first tape i made for B... first tape he made for me... tape i made with E that isn't finished because we got distracted by each other..." and so on. i stopped at one of them, thinking, nah... did i really? yes, i did. i made him a tape. what was i thinking? pulled it out, checked the tracks. are you kidding me? did i REALLY? memory says yes, yes i did. put it in a big green envelope and gave it to the fine folks at the USPS. and i'm mortified. i tuck it back into its slot. my heart and brain are clogged with too much else to think too hard about it, but it's nibbling at me still, minor faux pas or no. hours later, i'm googling, looking for i don't know what-- solace, i guess-- and i come across the aforementioned quote. and i feel a little better about the silly tape, because all three of those artists were on it. (no, obviously, i know i had no role in him knowing their music, or finding them to be of value... that's not the point!) minor, minor thing, to be made to feel less stupid about how i used the fleeting moments, but i needed it nonetheless. how much of human mourning is borne of the selfish desire for validation? not all of it, not by a long shot. but it's there, and i felt compelled to give it a sidelong glance as i stare down the other, more complicated parts, the ones that haven't matched up with coherent words yet.