I haven’t written
anything in a long while. It’s been maybe two months, maybe longer.
That’s quiet a dry spell specially since I’ve pretty much posted
something at least once a month for the past two years. Really I’m
surprised that this has lasted for as long as it has- writing on
here. When I was younger I always wanted to have a dairy that I
wrote in everyday. I thought it’d be a cool thing to have,
something to look back on when I was older. I had many diaries as a
little girl, but I rarely had more than ten pages scribbled on. This
is because I tended to start out strong, writing almost everyday for
a week. Then my interest would wane and I would write every couple of
days before I stopped writing completely.
Such a thing would
happen every time I received a journal with a lock on it. Off topic,
but those locks were the flimsiest things. I found out I could open
one of those things just by pushing down on the lock and twisting it.
Makes me glad I didn’t keep any super deep dark secrets in there.
Not that a eight year old me had any super dark secrets.
‘Today I stole a
cookie from the cookie jar!’
Sheesh, I haven’t
gotten into the heavy stuff and my couping mechanism is already
starting up. Have I mentioned that I deal with shit by making a total
fool of myself or cracking stupid jokes? That’s one of the ways I
deal with my life.
Anyways the reason
I brought up diaries, because in a way this is a diary, just a very
shitty one. More often than not I’m not writing with a huge amount
of detail nor do I really use names or state things. It’s mostly
random in some shape or form hidden among all the symbolism. Honestly
if I went back far enough I, the original author of the post,
wouldn’t have a clue what the fuck I’m talking about. I’ve done
it before. Gone back and read a post with only the vaguest idea as to
what life event I was describing, even than I’m not a 100% sure.
My memory isn’t
all that great. There are few things I can remember and even fewer I
can recall in full detail. Most people would probably pity me in some
way because of that, but it’s something I’m used to. I grew up
with this terrible memory, it’s something I’ve had since day one.
It’s not that I
don’t remember anything, I just can’t seem to recall things in as
much detail as others seem to be able to. The only time I am is
because it’s a building/ place I’ve spent a lot of time in. Even
than it can be iffy.
My first memory or
should I say the earliest memory I can recall is of me and my dog. I
was four, it was summer and we were in a large grassy field. I’m
pretty sure I was with my mother and father as well, but I can’t
seem to place them in this memory. Still that’s my ‘first’
memory for me. The only other things I can tell you is that I
remember being mesmerized by my dogs almost golden fur and feeling
very happy just watching her.
My childhood sort
of just blends into school and birthday parties. Guess I had my
priorities straight back then. Still if I look back on it as a whole
it was a happy time for the most part. It was fun and exciting,
except for sundays cause we always had to go to damn church. If I try
to recall a sunday from back then a wave of boredom will suddenly hit
me, along with a flash of green robes and the line ‘let us prey’
sung in a low tone.
My parents would
often go to parties friday or saturday evenings, dragging my brother
and me along. I don’t recall ever having a sitter or someone watch
us. There were always other kids though so the parties weren’t
terrible, just boring. After a couple of hours my brother or me would
constantly be asking my parents when we’d go home. The answer was
always ‘soon’, ‘soon dear, go sleep on the couch, we’ll be
leaving soon.’ Eventually my brother and I learned how to read
clocks so we were able to get a more solid answer than soon. Funny
I’m unable to recall what time we would actually leave these
gatherings, just that it was always dark out.
While my early
childhood is somewhat pleasant to recall, jr. high is another thing
entirely. One of the first things that come to mind is a sad scene.
I’m crying in a high school high way, curled into a bit of a ball
with a teacher next to me is trying to console me. I know I’d
started the sixth grade just recently and was having trouble with
something. I was very emotional that day for some reason, maybe it
was hormones, maybe I was on my period, honestly can’t recall why.
But I gave some sass to one of the teachers and was told to go out
into the hallway. There the second teacher that was helping came out
to try to understand why I was misbehaving and then I broke down into
tears. It didn’t last long, I got myself back under control within
a few minutes and went back into class. Still the teacher that
consoled me ended up being my eight grade english teacher.
If I focus on
school in general the first things that come to mind are art class,
the smell of clay and paint, flashes of fake blond hair, cruel high
pitched laughter and large empty hallways. Those snippets bring about
exasperation, happiness, anger and calm. As a whole jr high wasn’t
too much fun, still if I focus I can find some fond memories in there
that will probably stay with me for a long while.
Never being able to
say one of my friends names right even after having the same class
with her for a whole school year.
Surprising my spanish teacher by
cursing out one of my classmates in polish right after she handed me
back a barely passed spanish test.
Being welcomed with a smile every
day by my group of friends that grew and morphed each year.
Staying
after school for art club and goofing off the entire time.
Being
allowed to sit next to my best friend the entire year for seventh
grade history, even though everyone else was always split up and
moved every couple of weeks.
Each little snippet
is sort of like a snapshot in my brain packed with emotions that will
stir in my gut if I think on it long enough. Still sometimes when I
think about the past it feels more like I’m trying to recall a
movie I watched not too long ago or a book I finished a while back.
In a way this has
sort of shaped me and I how I choose to experience things. It means
that if I’m not in a hurry I’m gonna take my time, because then I
can take more in. Even though more often than not I’m just barely
on time to an appointment or late to it entirely. When choosing a
career for myself I choose something that involved more doing rather
than memorizing, because I couldn’t do something that involved me
remembering and recalling things almost instantly.
I enjoy taking it
slow, doing things at my own pace, allowing myself to suck in
information, events and hope I can recall something from the
experience later. It’s never much, but better than nothing.
Sometimes I worry
that I’ll develop Alzheimer at a really early age, even though no
one in my nearest family has had the disease, I could be the first.
This doesn’t terrify me, but worries, because who do you become
when you are unable to remember what shaped you? If you start to
loose the memories that gave you certain characteristics, that shaped
your personality are you still you? I guess it’s an age old
question that will never have a true answer.
If I ever get the
disease I’ll regret three things.
I’ll regret
forgetting three things.
I’ll regret
forgetting three people.
