So I’m here at work and it looks like I must remain so until someone comes in to replace me in the morning to watch over this little crop of sleeping survivors. Should be about 8am I’m hoping. Sorry y’all, but as soon as some poor unsuspecting car pulls into the driveway? I am outtie. I’ve been here since six last evening.
Not that I mind really. Stefanie had to go home sick, which is understandable, and by the way, if you’re reading this, this is as hate as the hate mail is going to get. The clock ticks; I fill my time. I pace. I wonder aloud (which is actually much better to do when you’re by yourself and it’s the middle of the night and everyone might, just might, think you’re on the phone or something). I read a little. I “surf the web” a lot; I should have my own techno-wetsuit.
But let’s get personal. Wait, no. Instead let’s have me write the words to a song that I like: It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember you’re alive for the first time/It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember you’re a live for the last time/It’s hard to remember/ It’s hard to remember to live before you die/It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember that our lives are such a short time/It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember when it takes such a long time. I don’t know why that’s comforting exactly but it is. This is the first shot you’ve had so you’re bound to screw up. It’s the last shot too so don’t waste time. And though it may be fleeting, it will take forever, and remembering will most likely be difficult.
I have these moments when all of the sudden some memory will take shape in my mind, and vividly so. It’s as if I’m transported right into that moment, remembering what I was thinking and what I knew then, and how everything looked and smelled and felt. Only this time that I live it I have a new perspective. And I can’t tell you how many times I giggle with embarrassment, I can’t tell you how many times I cringe. Does that happen to other people? Or are other people’s pasts less awkward and full of ridiculous happenings?
On the bright side, these things might help me write some good stories.
P.S. I had a boy ask me basically to fool around with him for a couple of weeks before he goes back to Europe. It seems like a romantic idea, I guess. Or at least it might’ve if it were a couple of years ago. But it’s now, and that’s the unfortunate part for him. It’s now and what use is that kind of an arrangement?
Tags: blah blah blah, insomnia
Everyday some sort of trigger, whether it be a song, an action like tripping over my own feet, even the smell of the air, will take me back. Its like a have an internal flux capacitor that Christoper Lloyd installed in me. Sorry no more Back to the Future references. But you are right, it’s as if I’m right there and the emotions are just as strong as they were.
Hooray! It’s good to know I’m not a freak. Or at least, if I am one, I’m in good company :)
Like this? (especially the last few words) (That’s a link, your style doesn’t make that very clear)