sometimes I think if I never moved, I would have an inaccurate a perception of myself. it could be debated that regularly sifting through your possessions doesn’t necessarily give a full, nuanced self-portrait, that our “things” are not “us.” but interesting patterns always emerge when sifting through nearly forgotten boxes, at least about the intangible things underneath the things we stuff away and forget.

among the objects I seem to collect without any effort on my part are little books of all kinds. maybe about 75% of them are entirely unused. some of them were enlisted into specific data collection projects and hold a few pages of tantalizingly interesting entries that stop all too soon.

the best one I’ve discovered so far this time is the little chococat notebook that I used in 2002, though it curiously begins with evidence of events that happened later than others near the back of the notebook. it begins:

a list of short story writers, likely names collected after I asked for recommendations in a zine. who knows what cost $185.00 but I doubt it had anything to do with the writers listed below.

on the following page I find ctc’s cell phone number on a post-it with what appears to be the number and extension from when she worked at Zagat. then another nyc cellphone number I don’t recognize. a six-digit number I recognize as the shared po box in Brooklyn.

there’s a page that notes my ongoing story idea, the one I worked on in November. I kind of wish I’d had these notes then.