The Inevitable Pathos of Objects
The sunglasses were special from the beginning. Lying beneath the cracked glass of a thrift store counter, there were two pairs of them: mottled tortoiseshell plastic old-guy reading glasses, “aviator” being far too cool of a term for their homely 1970s utility. I bought both pairs, one greenish, one brownish, and took them to a lens crafter to turn them into sunglasses. The greenish pair broke promptly. The brownish pair, the ones I’ve been wearing all year, broke yesterday.
I was shocked at how sad this made me feel. I am usually able to keep a healthy perspective as to the value of the stuff I own until it starts breaking on me, but then it all comes crashing down in a junkyard landslide of loss: every roll of toilet paper I’ve used up, every blown light bulb, every smear I’ve inflicted on a pedicure before I’ve even left the nail shop, every worn down pair of high heels. At times like this it is difficult to not see myself as a sum total of all the bright shiny hopeful things I have ruined and I begin to wonder what it would be like to live feral in the woods, owning nothing at all.
4 Comments so far
Leave a comment