Gyroscope Review 16-4 - Page 20

STUCK BETWEEN STATIONS BY DAVID COLODNEY After I’m dead, I’m sure my kids will curse me for leaving the burden of sorting through my possessions, scattered random papers, boxes and notebooks shoved, pages bent, on shelves, ripped, yellowing. Stacks of books in the closet, stealing space folded jeans and sweaters should hold. A man can accumulate a lot of worthlessness in his life. I may as well sift through this now, revisit my own history, place this stuff in its context, its time. I find a spiral notebook and touch it like velvet, twirling the ripped shreds embedded in those metal rings, seeing my college girlfriend’s swirling penmanship on paper thinner than my hair. I can’t let the kids think they’re obligated to keep any of this. I think of George Carlin’s routine about how all his shit was stuff and all my stuff was shit. It’s all shit to someone who didn’t live the back story, days chronicled upon days until they become lives driving in circles, pushing buttons on car radios, drifting in the atmosphere stuck between stations.
 Gyroscope Review 16-4 Page 1! 0