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Sunday, Apr. 24, 2005 / 11:42 p.m. ~It's a Card Index File Inside My Head~ Funny the things I remember, the things that stick, the memories that remain. Sometimes I look off to the left (on an episode of "CSI", they said this, that when someone is trying to remember, he/she looks off to the left, the eyes, they move that way, yet I don't know if this is true) and I think hard, but I still can't remember, and this happened at the reunion last week, a name tossed out, memory jogged, and the looking off into some invisible distance as if I'd see it there, remember a face or a moment, but nothing would come. And then there are those moments seemingly tattooed on my psyche, the ones will never go away, and the ones I constantly pull out and dust off, just so I won't forget. Even dreams that come back in a flood sometimes, a host of them flashing like I'm flipping through a card index file, or maybe just looking at a film version of my subconscious mind, like that Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, with the little people inside my head playing all the wrong reels so that none of it makes sense. So it is there are events and moments I can't forget, and I hope they get fuzzy, at least, in time, but for now I still think of them, and usually when I'd least like to, when they're least good for me to see, to relive, to remember. I suppose it's like 'non-selective memory', as opposed to selective. I don't consciously choose to retain certain memories, I don't consciously choose to remember nightmares, for instance, or anything horrible and bad from my past, as if those memories are stickier, nor do I purposefully hold on to the parts of my past that most need to be filed away where I can no longer reach them. It's seemingly out of my control, and I cannot say this pleases me. It might be aging, it might be that I'm in such an uncertain portion of my life right now, and that so much that is my life is now actually behind me, in the past, relegated to memory, and there is an exercise in trying to remember, to strengthen my brain's ability, and capacity, or it might be a form of depression, or it might just be fear of the future, or it might be like people who take drugs because they feel a need to experience that sensation, that 'high'. I need to pretend, at the very least, that I can go back and do it again, whichever part I want to relive, at any given time. Fantasy versus reality. And it's already unclear, even the most recent. I have time to make up in my paper documentation journal, for Friday and yesterday, and already details are hazy. It was a cerebral experience rather than a physical one, which might be more difficult to recall. So it is I wish I could do it again, so much of it, and this shouts out to me a clear indication that I need new experiences. That much is obvious. I wonder if that makes any sense at all. Even to me, when I'll read it later. It must be the lunar full moon eclipse in Scorpio, whatever that means. That must be what it is. I wrote a letter to someone, because I was thinking of him, and I wonder if I shouldn't have, but I didn't stop long to think, I am prone to acting with little worry for consequences. But I had a memory or two playing repeatedly in my head, and it was lovely, and I wanted to reach out and grasp it, do it again, so I found the person, and wrote, but not even of the sensation, barely brushed it with a gentle touch. He won't know what I'm thinking, and that is for the best, no doubt, but memories are sweet and unaltered. I love that. It was a beautiful day - I saw it from inside. I saw the trees blowing in the wind, and the new green leaves on the birch out front, new green everywhere, so soft and fresh. The sun shone and the temperature was cool, I could smell the air through a crack in the window, but there was no place I wanted to be other than here, and nothing I really wanted to be doing, other than this, and I watched two movies on cable, "Madame X", and "Goodfellas", so now I can say I've seen them, but neither thrilled me. The cat came out from under the bed and sat on me for a while, and it felt like old times, and I told her how much I'd missed her, and I thought we would go back to normal now, but she has gone back under the bed, and her incision looks horrible, I think, and I have to administer fluids, and I forgot to give her her Pepcid, and I don't feel like feeding her with the syringe, and I take full responsibility for this neglect, but I feel so tired. I slept on the sofa with Norma, and we heard TCM all night, and woke to movies, it was a restless sleep, I think, and I woke too early, and I have yet to recover, and this coming week fills me with ungodly stress just to think about. What a strange adjective, ungodly, but I won't change it, even if I'm certain I use it incorrectly now. Alas, I'm feeling dreamy, almost like I'd enjoy flipping through that memory card index file, and picking out something delicious to focus on, eyes looking off to the left, like I can see it better if I search over there, somehow. Cost of the War in Iraq
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