Constant Memory; Each Memory Made Different By the Act of Remembering

I wish that I had a blog or journal that I kept as efficiently last year, so that I might be able to find out what I was thinking this very moment a year ago.

Because, I know that I was not, by any means, thinking what I am thinking now -- or feeling what I am feeling now.

Well, actually, I posted this in my Livejournal (on this very day):

My my my! What silly, useless anger I always express on this silly lil' journal o' live.

'naive is a compliment' Hah!

I don't blame you readers (reader? anybody?) for not commenting/thinking twice about my insanity.

Maybe I'm just bipolar. Or, at least, gots some bad chemicals.


Tired family on A Haunting:
Mother? Grandmother?
Karissa is scared of the ghost
it's not of her grandfather.
And so they beat on against the current,
borne back ceaselessly
into the past.


I remember writing that -- I remember sitting up here, on my computer, while A Haunting was on -- I remember inserting the picture (I spared you the picture) of a fuzzy drive in Teaneck (or there about) to the asian supermarket with Meryl.

I was in an Elyse Sewell mood, that day -- one where I was epicurious.

And I emailed Alex telling him about seeing his parents at the library, and what I ate for dinner, and how I wanted to watch Oprah but wasn't able to.

I guess, what's most different now, is this:
I went to NYC. (I thought I was going to Iowa. I was looking forward to going to Iowa.)
I wear skinny jeans/pants. (I thought that I would never fall into that -- and even earlier on in my life I thought I'd dress in Hot Topic-esque clothing, read great books, and go to Amherst.)
I smoke marijuana. (Didn't see that coming.)
My parents know I smoke. (I used to always assume that they knew -- I called it 'the things left unsaid')

My jacket is the same, though.

This is a poorly written jaunt down memory lane -- I guess I'm just trying to remind myself that although these changes seem natural and almost necessary, they're not really what I had in mind -- and I don't particularly like them.

I'm not one of those people who would like to die in their sleep at 89 with grandchildren and walls and drawers filled with my papers and accomplishments. I don't think I ever was -- the future was always some variation of the present. (as it is for most people) -- And instead of ...

I just had a rush of memories. Smoking at Forrest School -- going for runs -- my birthday sophomore year (where we went to Maccaroni Grill and had pictures taken of us, and drew bubbles -- Molly and Caroline were there -- it all seemed so awful at the time, and what I wouldn't give to relive that awful experience.) -- Alex's awful black hair -- the attempts at romance between us -- groping ...

And now what?

And now what always races through my mind but is never given the full attention it deserves.

And I have ___ to look forward to. (?)

Today, instead of going to high school, I went to the doctor, will read about sitting shivah, will take the train to Hoboken, the path to 9th street, get off at 9th street (smoke a menthol cigarette), take the elevator up to my room, and eventually help Christina film for her project.

This does not seem like my life -- this is, in no way, what I want or wanted or need or desire or anything like that...

But it's happening, and it's real -- and because it is real, I have a constant obligation to it -- and because there's nothing worse than not doing your work, I will do it. Because I do my work and I'm glad that I do it.

I hate that memory is so good -- I hate that I can recall the exact feelings I've had, but I'm incapable of executing imagined feelings. (That's why my short stories/writing always fails, unless it is directly related to me.) "What now?" is a good question.

Haha! Last time this year, I didn't know Meryl had anorexia. I didn't know what Alex would jerk off on his webcam many times for me. I didn't know that I'd meet a prostitute with a puppy. Or that I'd drink a .40 with a boy named Jaxin and end up weeping in Meghan's breast. I didn't know about 'nummy numz' (cocaine) or anything like that. Ridalin was fake -- something from an episode of The Simpsons.

Alex didn't know what The Simpsons was -- nor had we seen Sunday in the Park with George.

I probably hadn't even listened to that yet (soon though, I remember listening to it compulsively while watching Canada's Next Top Model over February break -- and eating lunch with Kathleen and Kristian and basking in just how cold and windy it was outside and testing myself to see how, exactly how much I might be able to endure of it all.)

These are the memories that bother me the most -- these memories that can never be reenacted, only blithely in my mind. These dead experiences.
(what a true fragment of a sentence.)

I suppose I'll end this awful entry with this:

(found in a journal entry from January 22rd -- almost a year ago)

Today was a good day – and I remember, back in middle school, when I was all baby-ish and silly and I’d write xanga posts and they’d include every detail of every action of my day. “I had to walk to school today because my dad decided that he had to go to work early. I brushed my teeth and left the house to walk to school. On my way there I got really hot, but it’s okay because I was wearing a T-shirt. But just imagine if I was wearing a long sleeved shirt! I’d have probably died …” (Let’s pretend like any grammatical mistakes are intentional, shall we?)

So, I feel it dieing. And I’m too temperamental. (but what else is new and why should I really care?)

Heath Ledger died today – I feel surprised, but indifferent. – I shouldn’t really feel anything but that, though.

And lastly: when I imagined my high school life I never pictured it like this. This is too public to go into the real, juicy details – but I never imagined Friday nights. I never pictured people like that! I never could have imagined the people I like – and smoking! And the short list of shady things I’ve done! And not being in band?! That’d appear sacrilegious to Middle School Adam.

I’m not saying I don’t like what I’ve become – I’m having a stupid, and strange moment of total acceptance – but I’m just saying… life’s insane. Most foresight is wrong.

And to be honest, I really wish I cared.