uniquely maladjusted but fun: You Might Be Grateful For This Post Someday

Tuesday, May 26, 2026

You Might Be Grateful For This Post Someday

The above meme is about NOT saving anything "for a special occasion." That life, itself, is the special occasion. And that some people can alter their thinking to align with that belief. "Use the china, wear the clothes, your life is not a museum."

I envy that.

From a VERY young age (toddler 👶) I was told, "this is for special." There was a BEAUTIFUL necklace made with crystal during the depression, and my great-grandmother said, "I want you to have it. We'll keep it here, locked in the drawer, but it'll be yours to wear for SPECIAL." I inherited it after she passed away. I locked it in a cabinet. I didn't attend prom, so I missed that chance to wear it. I figured I would wear it for my wedding. A month before my wedding, it went missing. The whole locked box is missing. I have since moved, and have no idea what the hell happened to that box. No one else knew where that box had been stored. Nothing else is missing from the cabinet.

I never got to wear the necklace.

No one ever wore the necklace. I can only begin to imagine what my great-grandfather paid for it (or traded for it, as he did a lot of labor in trade because people were poor, though this was expensive jewelry, so who knows).

Around 1990, my mom got me a white LA Gear jean jacket for my birthday.

She must have saved for weeks. Those were expensive! Here's a picture of me and my (then) best friend, Nikki, "sharing" modeling the jacket.
I never wore it outside of the house.

I was saving it "for good." For some super special occasion, like prom or something. Not something ordinary, like going to sixth grade.

IDIOT!

Not only did I never go to prom, but it wouldn't have fit by then.

It's in my bedroom closet right now. In a protective garment bag. And I would be inconsolable if something happened to it.

But I never wore it out. Just in the house a few times, after showering, less any spec of dirt land upon it.

My mom was like, "I don't understand. I thought you'd never take it off. I thought you'd live in it."

I wish I did. I wish so much that I was able to think like that. But it felt so damn special, I had to keep it safe, so I just stored it.

I still do shit like that.

When we last moved, I had to downsize quite a bit. I am still DEEPLY bothered by every single solitary item I parted with, even though most of it was clothing I had outgrown. I took pictures of damn near everything before giving it away.

Several boxes of stuff were lost. Almost certainly thrown out. (It was not well-planned. It was disorganized chaos, and that's putting it mildly.)

I haven't let go.

There exists a large family property with two houses, an attached apartment, and an old church building. They are packed with stuff. The property was robbed multiple times. (The person was caught, no word on getting anything back or what's going on.)

But, see, I inherited this mental condition. This inability to let go. Not quite as bad as some older family members, but still.