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Junk Drawer
I pawed through my junk drawer, searching for a pen but found a silver padlock instead. Did I have the matching key? If I did, the lock would no longer qualify as junk. Why do people keep useless stuff? Are we too lazy to clean out the broken bits of our existence, or is there a deeper meaning encapsulated by the clutter? Do we suffer from fear of letting go of the smallest details of our lives? Might the junk drawer be a physical manifestation of our inner rubbish? I decided to do a little cleaning.
I turned my eyes inward and dumped my mental garbage on the floor. As I picked through the contents, I was dismayed to find remnants of childhood junk. Hiding under bits of crumpled gum wrappers lurked Fear of Not Fitting In. Huddled next to him was Fear of not Being Liked. I scooped up the twins, tucked them into my discard box, and attacked the mess with renewed purpose.
I spotted Fear of Strangers scurrying around the fringe. Fear of the Dark weaved among forgotten pennies. Into the discard box, they went. I kept the pennies. One never knows when one might need to purchase a thought.
As I sifted through dead batteries and plastic Happy Meal toys, I discovered my pals, Hopes and Dreams. Sadly, I hadn’t realized I’d misplaced them. They leaped into my gilded keep box, stirring to life two dear friends, Old Man Memories and his wife, Wishes, who meandered in after them.
