Memories aren't always wonderful. Sometimes I'm jealous of those people that bonk their head and then can only remember the last 5 minutes. I mean if I had to meet the friends and family I have, over and over and over.... it wouldn't be so terrible. I know some pretty awesome people. It would suck for them though. I'm pretty decent too, but there are only so many times a person can ask the same question before they are murdered. Even by their biggest fan. I think a dog might be the only being that can handle that without loosing their own mind. I have a Lab, so I have proof that doing the same thing a trazillion times in a row does NOT bother them in the least. So if I ever bonk my head in just the way as to loose all of my long term memory, just put me in a small room with a few loaves of bread and a Lab. Make it good bread though. A girl has to have standards.
The reason I sometimes lament for the mind of a vegetable is because I only seem to have long term memory storage space for my worst moments. The kind that, hopefully, I am the only one who remembers. Really, the actual events were not that bad. Like apologizing for something that you said a year before, only to find out that the person that you thought overheard you had no idea what you were talking about, and you made them cry during your apology because you brought up their dead brother. Yup, that is like a loop in my head sometimes. Hmm, after actually writing that down, it appears as though I might already have gotten my wish. That seems like something only a vegetable would think about.
The trick to getting myself to stop thinking about whatever it is that I don't like thinking about is to yell. I don't yell out loud, only in my head. I yell until I stop thinking about the offending thought. Every time it tries to creep back in, I yell it away. I think it's kind of like those basketball players that wear the rubber bands on their wrists and snap them every time they miss a shot or do something stupid on the court. It's rather ingenious actually, because I don't think about whatever it is that I don't want to think about for quite a while.
But the technique brings a new fear to bear. Am I going crazy. Not really a question, kind of a statement of maybe fact. Like an agnostic saying 'there is no god', when really they aren't sure. I wonder if this is how Sybil started, if you take away all the abuse. I also fear getting old. Not because people get gross when they get old, but because oldsters have no filters. And when they go crazy, they seem to get stuck in either a good or bad crazy land. I wonder if I am going to be one of those gross old women that just yells out loud for no apparent reason. The kind that scare the crap out of kids that are forced to walk the halls of a nursing home looking for their grandma. Now that I think about it, I am going to put in my will that my kids will only get the old insoles of my hiking shoes if they put me in a nursing home. Then again, I think they have nursing homes in Bora Bora. OK, you kids can have all my possessions if you put me in a nursing home in Bora Bora. So I'll be a crazy old lady that yells at odd times, probably pretty often, because by then I'll have three times as many crap memories that I do now. Maybe I can just get diagnosed with Turrets Syndrome. There will probably be good drugs for that. But still send me away to rot in Bora Bora. If I end up in some old mining town in West Virginia, be sure that I will never forget, and I will not yell away that memory. Instead, I'll feed it and let it fester, like a wart on my hand that I refuse to smother with duct tape. And I'll spend all of my money on bird feeders that spin squirrels, because there are a lot of squirrels in West Virginia.