Life is a series of events stringed together in what’s commonly known as time… these events are then gathered & stored in the database of your mind for you to suffer or glory in for the rest of your days, or at least until your retrieval process starts getting clouded by the distortion of age and Alzheimer’s.
I don’t ever want to forget my series of events. I want to remember all of it, each and every single glory-filled, unproud, depressing, inspiring, lackluster, shining, and self-loathing moment:
Like the time I showed up at work with no sleep after a night of binging on mind-altering chemical drugs at a rave and I left the store to get a coffee only to return and get my ass reamed out by some micro-managing delusional angry little fuck with a superiority complex… so I did what any self-respecting severely hung-over and slightly-still-tweaked employee would do, and wrote I QUIT in gigantic Red letters on the store schedule, grabbed my shit and left with my finger held high in the air…
Or that time that I moved out and my parents told me to take my opinionated loudmouthed bird with me. I told them I would be back to pick him up after I got settled in at my new place. But that never happened because I got a call from my dad a few days later telling me that he woke up that morning to find my bird keeled over in the bottom of his cage and that it was actually my fault that he died because he died of a broken heart.
Or that time I ran inside and literally slammed my then 9 year olds sisters head against the wall because her (in her wisdom) yelled out “she’s only 14” to my then 16 year old boyfriend who was kind of under the impression that I was older, and hey at 16 years old, there’s a big difference between 14 and 16 and when your little sister is standing at the front door shouting out your age over a megaphone for all to hear what choice did he have but to speed off and leave me in the dust to wallow in my 14 year old remorse…. But just for the record “FUCK YOU RICHARD”!
Or that time that an old friend named Roberto returned to the neighbourhood after a three year hiatus and dropped in to say hi, but me in my state of shock and fear about what my controlling jealous and hot headed boyfriend would think left me standing at the door saying “where do I know you from? I’m sorry I don’t remember you” and I cried into my pillow that night when I recalled the look on his face as I not only broke his heart but completely invalidated him as a human being. And if I saw him today I would hug him so tightly that he might think I was trying to cut off his circulation, and I would say “I am sorry… I am so unbelievably sorry… I did remember you… And I still do.”
Or when I met my grandfather for the first time as a 25 year old woman because he neglected my dad for all those years, completely shutting him (and us) out of his life… even slammed the door in his face when he showed up on his doorstep (which isn’t easy when he lives in Manchester). So suddenly he wants to make up and I was expected to follow suit, and I stood there before this old teary regret-filled man feeling nothing but sorry for him as he said “I’m sorry I missed everything.” And all I could think about is how I should feel something for this man, but I don’t… I don’t feel anything. I know he’s my grandfather but it’s just not there! He’s a stranger to me.
Or the time that I had my guts spilled all over the operating room table and I could see the reflection of my self in the industrial looking light above me and the nurse to my side held my hand and calmed me as I frantically told her “I can’t breathe… I’m not breathing… I can’t feel my chest moving… I’m not breathing” and she answered “I promise you that you are still breathing, you just can’t feel it because of the anesthesia. And as stupid as that sounds, that was EXACTLY what I needed to hear at that precise moment and I loved that nurse for telling me and I loved her for the way she told me.
You see, and it’s moments like these and others that make up the series of events that is my life. And you, you have a series of events that makes up YOUR life! And there’s nothing sadder than forgetting… And if I could have just one wish, it would be that none of us would ever forget, or pretend to forget another single moment.