It's all about balance and proportion when organizing a trunk. My car trunk contains the usual--flashlight, seat cushion, spare, anti-freeze, tool kit,Cameron Diaz inflatable doll for those long trips.
My other trunk is in my basement and contains a wealth of history. I keep rejection letters from editors and women right next to my banded collection of therapist receipts. My one athletic trophy for hop scotch is centered, next to a recording of my Henry Kissinger impression from the seventies. Autographed copies of Jewel's and the Octomom's collections of poetry are in the corner.
Family photos predominate, including Uncle Dom's unfortunate attempt to hang glide and baby Ernestine spitting up on Cousin Sophie.
Over 1400 marbles, won during various competitions, are in a sealed box. Fleece clothing lines the bottom of my trunk. When I'm depressed I empty the entire contents and relive all the poignant experiences these objects represent, including the failed recipes for fish. Somehow things seem brighter when I rub fleece all over my shirtless body. If only I hadn't traded my old baseball cards for investment advice from John Corzine.
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