I found a box in my basement the other day labeled “Tina’s Keepsakes.” I must have overlooked it during the mad eBay selling frenzy of 2010. I dusted it off, brought it in the house, and undid the miles of duct tape wrapped all over it. ‘What was I hiding from myself?’ I wondered. The box contained lots and lots of foreign stamps from my childhood stamp collection, sketches of Snoopy and Woodstock, my View-Master and slides, a bunch of birthday cards (wishing me a sweet 16), and a whole trove of journals from the early ’90s. Nothing that I could really put on auction, except for the View-Master, but the journals piqued my interest. Two hours later, I was still curled up next to the box on the floor of my room. Part of me wanted to dump the whole lot of them in the trash, and quickly forget all I had read; the rest wanted to have a little pity party for my sad 20-something self. There were some insightful things I wrote, and some very funny; I had forgotten the chunk of my life that had been dedicated to being a comedian. There was a lot of list making, with not a lot of the things crossed off.
So, Younger Tina, did I turn out okay? Did I mess things up further, or would you approve of where I am today? Would you like me to go through your stuff and cross anything off your lists? I never did respond to five Drama-Logue ads a week, or book a night at the Ice House. But I did eventually sew a skirt, and take my car to Jiffy Lube.