I was talking to a friend of mine last week and she told me ‘People miss you on, Facebook, dude.’
I told her I wasn’t sure when I’d be back…if I’d be back. To which she said “Take your time, or do your thing and keep it off. Whatever is good for your soul.”
And that was one of the coolest things anyone has ever said to me.
Whatever is good for your soul. That’s really what’s it’s all about, isn’t it? I left facebook once before. Left it in May. Came back to it in August.
Again this year, it was May or so when I left. I don’t see a reason to go back. I don’t know. I have spent large portions of my life feeling alone in a crowd. Very few people, I think, get me. I don’t know if that’s their fault, or my fault, or even something to consider a fault. It’s pretty much just the way I feel. I have felt that way most of my life. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Like the blackouts.
Not drug or alcohol induced blackouts or anything like that (although I have a few of those too), but good old fashioned gaps in my memory.
The most recent one that keeps popping up is of a company picnic my parents talk about. Sorry mom and dad…I smile when you tell the story, but as I live and breathe, I really can’t remember much about the day at all. I remember being in the canoe. I remember it tipping over. I remember the lunch boxes floating. But mostly that day exists for me as though I’m looking at it through several layers of grey gauze. I see large shapes and moving objects, but the entire day never quite shifts in to that crystal clear focus. Hopefully that will change.
I find that much of my life, as I look back, is like that. I don’t really know what it means. I remember almost none of the childhood I see in pictures at my parents house. Bits and pieces here and there.
I am somewhat envious of people who can recount with staggering detail their entire life’s story. I am not one of those people.
Maybe that’s why I write. Or maybe, that’s what happened to the memories. The imagination was so strong and the urge to write so great that it put all of my actual memories in little boxes and tucked them in to the unused corners of my brain.
Dunno. I may never know. Maybe I’m already advanced in years and hooked up to a hospital bed somewhere. Buxom young nurses doting around commenting about how they are so lucky to be taking care of the comatose famous author. Wife crying by the bedside. Grandchildren coming in dutifully once a week to talk to the vegetable that used to be something.
I mean, how do you know? What the hell is reality anyway?
Life can change in an instant.
It changed for an off-duty firefighter last night. A friend of mine had come over from Dayton to go to the Crew game with me. He scored us tickets. I was standing in line to get my scarf and he was getting us $9 beers and it started to rain.
I thought ahead and had packed a couple of ponchos in my purse (as the security guard at the gate called it while he looked through it) and as soon as I paid for my scarf, I gave Ed his poncho.
It wasn’t but 10 minutes later that all hell broke loose and the skies opened up. Dumping rain down in buckets.
Lightning caused a delay of game. And with each strike, additional time was added. Then I saw the firetruck and squad going through the parking lot. I figured someone had slipped on the metal stairs or had some kind of shock.
At 10 minutes after 9, they called the game. Canceled. I got home about 10 and delved in to some Fireball and bad movies on Netflix.
It wasn’t until later I learned that someone was struck by lightning and that was what I saw the squad for.
Crazy. Things change in an instant. I was almost struck by lightning. Twice. Close enough to have all of the hair on my body stand on end and to smell the ozone as it struck. It wasn’t something I’ll soon forget (even though it happened 15 years ago). I say that now, but given my proclivity for memory issues, there’s a good chance I’ll only remember it after reading it in my blog years hence.
I had some brilliantly insightful post all planned out last night before I went to bed.
I really need to write that shit down when I think of it. I wonder how many stories have vanished out in to the universe because I convinced myself that I would have no problem remembering them when I next sat down to write.
Alright–with that I’m going to bed. It’s been kind of a weird weekend.