Ew, 2009! That officially makes me OLD (ha!) and about to graduate, or in a year. I mean it looks way closer than it ever has before. And it’s never looked this far away.
I can’t wait to get home. I know it’s true. I say it all the time, and yet, I think, what happens when I get home? What happens when I see, up close, the life I used to know going on at a ridiculously fast pace, leaving me behind. Leaving me further and further behind. I want to know when I will begin to remember things again. A fortnight or perhaps just a month? I shudder to even imagine, a year? I want it to be the future already and I know, with so much certainty, that I’m gonna run hard, and learn new stuff. There’s a reason they say that we’re always learning, like it or not (besides being true); it’s ’cause without constantly learning, life feels a waste. Now I read, but glean nothing. Now I listen, and it’s in one ear and out the other, literally. Now I play music I’ve had for months, but each time I play it I am sight reading.
I hate to harp on about the memory loss thing. In my defense, I don’t really remember writing about it a lot, so it feels new. But I want to be wholly honest when I write everything. I want this to be just exactly what I’m thinking, as it falls from my mind. I’m keeping it real. Ohh I feel so scattered…is any of this making sense?
If you lived, but had no memories of living, couldn’t call on your mind or trust it, you’d make it a focal point too.
I take pictures. It’s how I deal. I take pictures of the lame and boring details that you don’t have to take pictures of. There are photos on the walls here, most 8 x 11 ‘s of my favorite places, flowers, colors. And a collage. And some leaves are strung up on the wall. And dried flowers…gah…I’m falling off topic. I take movies too.
Simple movies. I just turn around as far as I can, and pan back to the far side of my field of vision, just to capture everything as it was, as it breathed. Sometimes when I watch them I get angry at the betrayal of my temporal lobe. It’s hard to hate an inseparable part of yourself. But mostly, or when I’m feeling patient and reflective, they don’t make me angry, just curious.
There shall be no sticking of the head in the proverbial and aforementioned sand. Which is why I take pictures really, because, “An ostrich with its head in the sand is just as blind to opportunity as to disaster”.