Daily Archives: September 21, 2015

I don’t remember….

I don’t remember much more of my life than I do remember.

But writing about what you don’t remember is hard. Because everything which comes to mind is something I do remember. And something I don’t remember is an absence. How do you write about an absence.

I don’t remember much of my dreams. I know last night I had a dream about work. Some of my co-workers were in the dream. But I don’t remember what I was doing and what they were doing.

I don’t remember when I started to feel like writing was something I wanted to do in life. I know in high school I shared some poetry with an English teacher. I also had a poem published in the school poetry journal. I don’t remember the poem. But it was about feeling like the whole world wanted me to be a solid rock. But I just felt like I was falling apart. I do remember those feelings in high school.

I don’t remember the name of my first sexual partner. She was older and a little drunk, and I wasn’t quite ready. And I don’t remember if I enjoyed it or not. I am sure I remember the name of my second sexual partner and most of the others.

I met a girl in San Francisco. For some reason I thought we would be friends. But we started making out, and it wasn’t quite what I expected or wanted. But she took me to a cool concert. We went back to her house afterwards and had sex. I can’t remember if she was drunk and tired, just drunk or just tired. But it wasn’t pleasant.

I don’t remember doing any homework in school. I remember learning even less. The few classes I remember were because of the teachers. Though I don’t remember most of their names. I remember doing community service for a speeding ticket. I don’t remember how many hours I had to serve. I served the hours working at the high school.

I don’t remember the last time I had a deep conversation with anyone. There has been plenty of small talk. But to honestly take a few moments and be close to another person. I don’t remember when I have allowed anyone close to me. I don’t remember when I have openly loved someone without feeling anxious.

I don’t remember when many of my friendships started to go stale. When I gave up on one dream after another. When I started to focus more on the ground than the sky.

I remember my first Rainbow Gathering, and I remember Moriah. But I don’t remember the feeling of love I once had so deeply for her. I don’t remember why I felt like it would be so hard to live without her.

I don’t remember when I stopped eating like most people. I think it was sometime in my childhood. I don’t remember how many mornings I didn’t eat in my middle school years and didn’t feel well. I don’t remember what I ate for much of my high school years. Though I remember mother making Hamburger Helper.

I don’t remember the last time I spoke with my sister.

I don’t remember much of the French I learned in school. Or the Spanish I have been trying to learn the last couple years.

I don’t remember the name of any of my childhood friends. Though I am sure there were a couple. Some being relatives in an off-hand manner. I don’t remember the last time I saw my grand-father. And like most people I don’t remember the first time I saw my mother. Though I know once we went to buy me glasses. In the office I put them on and said, “so that is what you look like.” It got a good laugh.

I don’t remember it being so long ago. But it was. I don’t remember getting older and older. I don’t remember the years passing. But remember or not they have been passing. I don’t remember feeling young, even though I still don’t feel old.

Most of all I don’t remember what I don’t remember to be honest.

(Post Script: This post was written from a prompt in a book, Room to Write. The prompt was clearly “I don’t remember…” The opposite of the last one.)