Files

                   

And here I am, clicking away on my new laptop. I think typing on this thing is going to be an acquired taste. But how wonderful. I bought every imaginable gadget that goes with it, so I can pretty much type anywhere I want now. I have visions of sitting on my big porch up at my cabin in the Mountains, drinking coffee in the misty morning, clinking away as inspiration strikes. I won't be missing any more days of technology writing.

       So inquiring minds may want to know, how am I these days? I wish I could say the sign of emerging spring life is parallel to how I'm feeling, but this isn't so. Yet. I've found myself in a barrel of mist and haven't been able to clear the vision as of yet. So, time, yes that nemesis of mine, is going to just have to stand still a bit longer.

       Isolation from the other side of thought is a lustrous temptation for which I could not resist. I've tucked my loneliness inside a wisp of thought, and pushed my confusion down the hall into it's own door of silence. I personally think it's a precious maneuver by industry standards. My own form of a watch tower.

       So instead of going down a tunnel of melancholy again on this journal entry, <to late I know> I thought I should try something alittle different. Memories, those darling little pocket files stashed away sweetly in our minds, are the things we relish, regret and dignify with retelling.
      
       Do you know a person in your life, who without a doubt can recall every little minute detail about the past with astonishing clarity? I do.....Sometimes I like to think I can do the same, then again sometimes I feel like I'm on the first step to the Alzheimer's ward. I honestly have a hard time remembering negative things.

        For example, the last few years of my teenagehell I can barely remember anything in regards too. Now, this city I live in, is pretty small in comparison to most worlds. When I'm walking down the street and I hear someone call out "Becky" really loud, I instinctively know I should run the other way, because that's pre-age 20, no one calls me Becky, after knowing me past the age of 20. I will very rarely remember the person who is talking to me.

       In my 20's I do happen to remember some of the negative, but typically those are just all the bad choices I made. The negative things other people may have done to me are easily forgotten. This is a hard thing for me to admit, but there are whole sections of my daughters lives I seem to have hard time bringing clear and distinct memories of. I hate that the most. < I can hear the chime's of the Alzheimer's ward calling now>

       So is it a choice to forget some things, and remember with utmost clarity other things? This can't just be a me thing. But then again, in speaking with a clever man I know, he astounds me with the things he can remember. Little details, a movement, a heavy breathe, a feeling or look, a sentence or statement. He can even recall exact dates! How can this be? If memories are the path to the past, then someone is out there with a shovel digging up holes on my walkway.

       At least I'm finally forced to date my writing via this online journal. I get irritated with myself when I go back now, years back and read stuff that I was writing about and unless there is a direct hint for me, I have no idea what year, month, time it was written. Denial of history, ignoring the timeline is what I had done, by not adding a simple date.

       Hey Joe, this is a pretty good example of rambling a bunch about a bit of nothing tonight. Feels kinda calming to be non descript.

       "Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal {but} which the reader recognizes as his own.
Salvatore Quasimodo
And that Paul, Aurora Walking Vacation, is something I can grasp and accept. I read it and thought of our debate.