07 February 2013 ~ Comments Off

a me I don’t remember

It’s not uncommon for people to forget things they’ve said or done over the years, but I used to be better than most at remembering every single detail, telling other people’s stories for them as if I’d lived them myself and surprising people with heartfelt retellings of our friendship from many years earlier.

But since about 2008, my memory has gotten significantly worse. Blame it on those nights of karaoke and Long Island iced teas the summer after I graduated college. Or maybe all the chemicals in diet soda. Either way, it’s worrisome, losing entire stretches of your life to the blankness of time and space.

This came to mind earlier this evening, when I started perusing the blog posts I’d marked as “private,” spanning the years up to 2009. I have to assume I just mass-labeled them that, because a lot them don’t make sense as being something I’d hide (see “absolutely no pork” below). But others were like reading about someone else’s life entirely. I was on a trivia team? I hung out with Brett from work and we got coffee? I wrote post titles like “dimly on a Friday evening”?

I thought I’d share some of the entries I unearthed today that deserve to be declassified:

  • a window to your life. – My apparent love for Twitter, stemming from a DM conversation with a girl I’ve still yet to meet in real life
  • presenting pete – An introduction to Bryan’s dearly departed orange marmalade cat, who passed away within two months of our meeting (inspiring the subsequent post, RIP Pete)
  • more levitt shell – Photos from my first visit to the Levitt Shell Summer Concert Series, accompanied by a bevy of male coworkers and Bryan, the first week we met
  • dimly on a Friday evening – Some reveling on my first month of dating Bryan, as well as other life bits
  • absolutely no pork – In which I outline the items you’re not allowed to mail to the troops in Afghanistan
  • a tribute to team trivia – An oddly heartfelt post about doing bar trivia with my coworkers and the bond between same-bar teams who are usually competitors
  • when she bars the door and strikes a match – About a year after I moved to Memphis, I went back home to Michigan for a visit and sorted through the mountains of crap I’d left behind at my mom’s. I uncovered so. much. stuff. I even admitted that some of it was other people’s memories.

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