Emotions are confusing.

I think that title is the understatement of the year. I think my mood swings have been more irrational and sudden than I can remember them being for quite some time. Part of this has been the result of a massive attack on my room, sorting out clothes that I no longer wear and papers I no longer need. It's amazing how much stuff I can accumulate over the course of a single year. A single semester, really. So I've been sitting in my room all day, looking at old pictures and re-reading all sorts of things... notes from middle school (some dramatically proclaiming that, "Emily was NEVER mad at you, but so and so said THIS and I don't mean to get involved, BUT..." and some of the more amusing ones from German classes with Shaina), on into the high school memorabilia, from the light and bubbly freshman year notes through the reflective, bittersweet poems from junior and senior year, plus random programs and scribblings from notebooks and folders long forgotten, and finally the little cards and ticket stubs from college, letters to home and five-page papers, all fresh in my memory.

Each item provokes a memory, and each memory holds its own intriguing mix of emotions. One letter in particular, written towards the end of this past spring semester, triggered a wave of sadness unlike anything I've felt in several months. Yet... it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever written. Maybe because it came straight from my heart? Who knows. As I read it, I found myself wishing that more than one person could have seen it, just because it's one of the most genuinely sincere letters I've written in my life. I realize, though, that it's not something others could necessarily understand... relate to it, yes. But of the particulars, there were only a few near enough to understand. I sat and pondered these thoughts for a moment, then folded it back up and placed it in my memory box.

It's odd, though, to think that when I die... all the things I put in that box will either be buried with me, and thus fade into nothingness, or be read and passed on to people that likely won't have any idea about the story behind each item. So maybe that can be my goal for life... gradually chisel down the items in that box until they hold only those items most dear to my heart. And then tell their stories...