Pokey
dropped off a typewriter to get fixed the other day. after some chit-chat with the typewriter repairman, i set out to road-test the mixtape i’ve been working on. i like doing that — driving and listening to mixtapes-in-progress — before putting my pencil down. i hadn’t planned on going driving, but plans change. i headed down a familiar avenue and took it farther than i have before. several towns from home i realized i was heading toward an antique store i like and charted a course.
the shop is small with stalls arranged thematically, and an entire corner filled with toys. on my first visit i spent a bit of time in the toy corner and found a posable, rubbery Pokey figure just like the one i had as a kid. i wanted to get it then, but resisted on account of my penchant for collecting. on every visit since then i’d play a game: check the toy shelves for Pokey, leave him there for next time. this Pokey wasn’t in great condition, or particularly collectible; but he was recognizable, familiar. i looked forward to searching for Pokey just as much as i did combing through the bric-a-brac.
last time i stopped in i noticed that the shop was downsizing. one of the two back rooms that usually showcased larger pieces had been closed off. i was seeing that Pokey wasn’t the only thing that could disappear on the next visit — it could be the whole store. queue the world’s tiniest violin please…
i decided to buy the Pokey toy before i even pulled into the lot. i regretted not buying it last time and didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. (also, there were a couple brochures i had seen that would make great collage material. two birds, really.)
i walked in, said a quick “hello” to the gentleman arranging items in stalls and headed straight to the toy shelves where Pokey was, right where i saw him last. i pulled Pokey from a clutter of toys, grabbed the brochures and excitedly chirped my Pokey story to the same gentleman as before who was now ringing me up. he obligingly replied, “oh, yeah?” unsurprisingly, he wasn’t as humored to hear my story as i had been to tell it. can’t win ‘em all.
i finished listening to the mixtape on the drive home. i’m happy with it. it tells the story i need it to, for me. it is finally done, and Pokey is finally my pony.
the mixtape making process is a whole other thing. i had tried writing it along with my Pokey story, but it was proving quite challenging. i thought it could be the character building kind of challenge, but it was getting confusing and i kept generalizing important details. when i read back what i wrote, i feel as thought it was written for someone else. not helpful, and more disorienting.
i need space to reflect and clearly articulate some complicated feelings. feelings around processing relationships and memory. i want to give myself room to move and breathe before unleashing it to this space and the internet time capsule.
also, i want to dispatch another note-to-self: this is for you - write for your own self-reflection. what is it that you need from this? write to describe your process so that you may better understand how you move through the world. you got this…