The Archivist

Written By M.

Some years ago that whole “matter can neither be created nor destroyed” thing really clicked for me, by which I mean it went from something I thought about just sometimes to a compost and recycling-focused psychosis that eventually culminated in tearful defeat over the logistical impossibility of transporting a 10-person beach vacation’s worth of cans, cardboard, and plastic across state lines. I’ve calmed down since then, opting instead for a slightly less soul-destroying examination of my own personal detritus.

Somewhere on this planet exists every pair of sunglasses I’ve ever misplaced, every tube of Carmex that wasn’t there when I reached for it, and a significant number of really great vintage t-shirts that I simply do not believe I would have parted with on my own terms (and yet are nowhere to be found). I long to know what they’re up to, where they’re living, are they happy? Do they ever get together after work, and (a few drinks in) start talking wild, off-the-wall sh-t about me? I can’t help but feel the answer is yes, and I also sort of don’t blame them.…

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M.
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“Autofiction”