When I moved to my Sister’s, I basically threw everything into boxes and the back of my car in the most haphazard fashion you can imagine and then spilled it all into my current basement. Yesterday I was inspired to go through a lot of that shit, and I came across a shoebox marked “IMPORTANT.” Inside, among other random shit (like an unlabeled floppy disk???), I found my jar of dirt.
Anyone from Colorado has likely heard of the Grand Junction Dirt Curse. TL;DR: if you are born in Grand Junction, CO and plan to move away, you must collect dirt from the three major mountains in the valley to take with you, otherwise you will be doomed to return. And if you leave GJ, it’s probably because you’ve finally realized what a horrible cesspool of shit that place is and you’re likely trying to run as fast as possible. But don’t leave without your dirt.
It took me the better part of a month to collect mine, because I didn’t have a car and had to rely on the schedules of those that did. I had to hike the Bookcliffs (because I hear it doesn’t count if you take the dirt from the bottom) which was a bitch and a half. But here it is, a decade of curse-repellant going strong. In all my random moving and adventures and hardships over the last decade, I can proudly say that at least I didn’t end up back there to top it all off. So while I feel only slightly like Captain Jack Sparrow running around on that island of madness with his jar of dirt, I am thankful for this minor psychosis.