spring clinging or cleaning?

Ahhh, the air is fresh and washed with rain, and I feel anew. Except for the cleaning of my basement that I never got to this winter. As I poured through the boxes of fabric scraps, costume pieces, and old sheet music, I came across a GINORMOUS box of wedding pictures. Not an ounce of my soul longed to go through them, looking at how pretty the dress was, or how the guy in the monkey suit looked like he actually was in love, or how two very different families both tried to understand the un-understandable--each other. Hooray! That's new.

It must be like a traumatic accident, this wedding. I read in my abnormal psych class that persons who'd experienced something awful like a dog attack, rape, or near drowning, continued on in a traumatized state or even developed PTSD as any time they were triggered into remembering the event, their bodies re-experienced the stress response. That's how I had felt about my marriage for a while. The treatment? Just like one would do after an attack, I told and retold and retold again the story. Over time, it stopped feeling so stingy and I started to tell it in a more positive light. Amazing, I can now tell it without feeling, period. Trauma over. YES!

So, whadda I do with all those pics? I want to acknowledge that this event shaped my being, but I am sooooooooooo over it.