Bitch on the Blog

August 9, 2012

Deja Vue

Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 16:02
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Have reached critical mass. Can’t remember what I have already said, on this blog and in my and other comment boxes. All I can rely on now is that my readers’ memory is even worse than mine. Not that I bore easily. Myself, that is.

Minds work differently. My mother and I will go over family history and anecdotes ad nauseam. We enjoy it. My father – whose mind is legendary – has to refer to his wife (that’s my mother) for any dates. As do I. Once she is gone both my father and I will be stuffed. We will not know who married whom when why and when was the last time I saw Uncle Whoever and at what occasion. It fills me with dread. What she knows I cannot google.

Would be good if we could preserve people’s brains. Or rather their content. Mind you: The world would be a bit like that pot of semolina in the fairy tale. Overspill. Slowly covering the village in white sticky goo.

U

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3 Comments »

  1. I was never good at remembering details, but the feelings about my memories seem to stick. And, in the end, isn’t that what is most important? At least it is to me. It doesn’t matter how many gallons of porridge covered my shoes when the pot boiled over; what matters to me is how delightfully squishy and warm my toes felt.

    Comment by Lorna's Voice — August 10, 2012 @ 17:22 | Reply

    • A lot of my earliest memories are like snapshots. A moment, a feeling, a smell, frozen in time. I couldn’t put it more delightfully poetic than you in your last sentence: Squishy and warm indeed.

      Your endeavour, your memoirs, and the way you whip them into shape do intrigue me. Unlike you I talk about my memories in an anecdotal way, but rarely (other than on my blog) do I write anything down. It demands a discipline which I think I lack. My whole way of thinking, relating anything, is ‘all over the place’, jumping from one to another by association only. If I were a road I’d be spaghetti junction. Whichever exit takes your fancy. Just don’t expect to arrive anywhere. Other than exhausted.

      I will admit that I rather like that in myself. Even if it irritates other people but then what are other people there for if not to be irritated? Come to think of it: Men tend to run out of patience more quickly than women. Not all, but most. Now there is a line of thought for you, Lorna, to put into words on your blog complete with your inspired photos and captions: MOSF. Man on a short fuse. Sizzle.

      U

      Comment by Ursula — August 10, 2012 @ 18:09 | Reply


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