Reading Stephen King's latest book, Duma Key, got me to thinking about memory. In the book [I'm only about sixty pages in] the protagonist is severely injured in a construction site accident--a forty-story crane failed to go beep-beep-beep when it backed up and it turned his pickup truck into a crumpled beer can--and, during the rough days of early recovery he finds that he cannot remember as well as he used to and that sometimes the words just don't come together the way they should. Calling his soon-to-be ex-wife a birch instead of a bitch and failing to remember zipper, calling it instead a zoomer and/or a zapper, are a couple of examples.It made me think about memory. I think that mine sucks. I can't remember shit. Childhood is all a blur, for example and each day seems to slide seamlessly into the next, leaving the path that I took to arrive at the Present cloudy chickenscratch. My sister says that she, too, remembers little. Why is this? Don't most people remember their childhoods?
My friend read me the riot act today because I failed to find the poker book that he lent me. When he asked for it at bowling, I told him that I had not been able to find it, had I perhaps given it to him last time I saw him? He fucking exploded. "I knew I shouldn't have gave you that book to read!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Wouldn't you remember if you gave it to me? Why are you always in a haze?! I knew that you'd lose it or ruin it." I felt that he was talking to me like a fricking three-year-old and I'd been having a bit of a bad day, so I exploded in kind. "I just misplaced it!" I said. "I was just wondering if maybe I had given it to you already. Jesus!" He went on to say that I was acting like a crybaby and that I had the penchant for getting pissed off at the drop of a hat [while, he, seriously, is one of the most volatile people I have ever met and he'll explode over absolutely inconsequential things] and blah blah blah and whoop whoop whoop. Bowling sucked tonight. I could not have cared less about how I bowled; I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. [My scores said as much: 88, 102 and 116. Whoops.]
But...what was I saying? Oh yeah: memory. Mine is not so good.
Is it that I just don't give two shits about most things? Is it because I don't really care that I drift daily through life? Do I perhaps see things more haphazardly than most? Maybe, maybe and yes. I do know this, though: if I had lent him a book and he had misplaced it or lost it, I would have damn well not blown up at him when he told me of the misfortune. Shit happens. Buy a new book to replace the old. There is often a simple solution to most "problems."
Or is my memory bad because I drank my brain into pickle juice? Probably not. I guess I just have different priorities as to what is truly important. Maybe I have that off-the-beaten-path bend to my mind that creative people often have. You know what I'm talking about: absent-mindedness, illogical thinking, randomness, et cetera.
Later, when I texted my friend for the name of the book and asked again if I had maybe already given it back to him [I could have sworn that I gave it to him on the day of the Synryd concert] he texted back, "I double-checked. It's not here. Maybe it's in your sloppy house or in your car somewhere." No. And no. And no again, Marky-Mark. It ain't here. And my house is not all that sloppy. And my car? Spotless.
At the bowling alley, he intimated that my house was just plain dirty, making me feel like Pig Pen of the Peanuts comic strip. You know what, Mark? People are fucking different, man. Not everyone is as miserlypenny-pinchinggood with their money as you and not everyone is as analorganized and clean as you are. These are good qualities, for sure. But never let it be said that I would call you out for being yourself. Some people are cat people and some people roll with the dogs. I could not be happier to roll with the dogs.
Anyway, my memory ain't what it used to be and I'll be going to Las Vegas with this guy (and another guy) at the end of May. No drinking for me and I don't like to gamble and he and I will argue over the most inane things...um, why am I going again?
I reckon I forgot.
13 comments:
I used to have an awesome memory. And then I think my pills got me.
I always worry that I don't remember "enough" of my childhood, though. Like there's something wrong with me.
I have a scarily good memory a lot of the time. But it's never for important things. For example, is we sat down, I could probably tell you everything I wore for every school picture I've ever had in my life. I can repeat verbatim conversations I've had with people. I can tell you every insult I've ever been given.
Buuut, I forget what I'm saying in the middle of sentences and forget the proper words for things, so that I end up miming "plate" or something stupid like that because I can't remember the right word.
What was the point of this story? I can't remember.
Oh, yeah, your friend sounds mean. Good luck in Vegas. And everyone remembers things differently. :)
I'm not sure many people remember much of their childhoods. I certainly don't. I have memories of it but not a ton. I think it's because we're still so young and our minds are still developing. More of our memory is spent on the more practical things like vocabulary rather than hide and seek.
Your friend sounds like he has a tendency to over react just a teeny wee bit. Just tell him to get stuffed! Get him pissed and marry him off to some munter in Vegas. That'll teach him!
My God, he sounds like an asshole and I pity his girlfriend. He sounds mean and insulting and who the hell acts like that to a friend? I'm going to kick his ass. Screw Vegas*. Save it for going with someone special ;)
Was I the sister you had the memory conversation with? Sounds familiar, but I can't quite remember ... lol.
*Actually you'd probably have fun, Mark or no - I am just ticked.
I don't remember most of my childhood, but then again, I'm bipolar, and the medication I take does have an effect on my memory. Unfortunately, I can't remember if I remembered my childhood before I started taking medication...if that makes sense...
Heather: I have been wondering if the Zoloft I take has had an effect on my memory. It is almost as if it is a medicinal lobotomy. Interesting...I'll have to investigate that tack. Maybe it's time I got off the shit.
Caleal: I do, too, actually. I'll just remember stupid things, things that have no relevance to everyday life.
Bunny: If I tell him to get stuffed, I don't know what he'd do...he's a tad mercurial, as well. Kinda like a ticking time bomb. :-O Oh, and I love the Scottishisms coming through in your comment. "Get him pissed" over on this side of the pond would mean to make him angry; yours I assume means to get him drunk? And "munter"?! What the hell is *that*?! :-) Is that like a hideous beast-woman...or a transsexual? :-P
Melissa: Yeah, he can certainly be an asshole. He's pretty cool most of the time, though. And, yeah, his wife Racheal. I have the feeling she might not be all that happy most of the time. The Rolling Stones' "Under My Thumb" comes to mind. But I really don't know and so I should not speculate, especially online. So...um...how 'bout them Tigers?
Frank: I have an anxiety problem! Pleased to meetcha! :-P Yeah, like I was saying to Heather up above, I wonder about the longterm effects of psychotropic drugz sometimes. How much do we know, y'know? Also, I know exactly what you're talking about with the remembrance of childhood before the meds started. They tend to make everything a static haze, right?
I don't remember what I was going to write here.
I realize that my last comment came off as smart ass-tastic. It was meant to, of course, but it is also kind of true. I had a really good comment all thought out... then I wandered off for a minute and forgot it completely.
My mind? Is a steel trap!
(I'm tired.)
JenBun: Your mind is a steel trap in that it SLAMS down on things you want to remember and reduces said memories to so much tangled and mauled and unusable material?
;-P
I can usually use the material again, but it tends to come out even pervier than it came in!
:P
i think we all have memory problems. after all, how can you remember everything? i do know that memory can be coaxed...like if you remember something (via a picture or song) it can lead to other memories. i remember that granddad used to try to visualize at night in his chair before going to bed. sometimes it was memories, sometime fantasy, etc. he said that trying to concentrate on something without much outside stimulus helps to strengthen the mind. we are going all day long with noise and things happening all around us and i think we forget how to recall. you could look at a picture at random and try to remember all you can surrounding it, as an exercise. maybe that would stimulate your overall memory. but, anyway, i wouldn't worry about not remembering. we all have similar problems.
What an ass. I suppose if my "friend" treated me like that, I'd forget he was my friend. I guess that is a testament to your character, Adam--you are a saint my friend. :)
I used to have a pretty good memory, I mean not excellent by any means, but decent. Then I had kids.
I'm lucky if I can remember what we had for dinner last night, when garbage night is and which key unlocks my front door.
I have an easy time remembering the shitty stuff that's happened and the rude things people have said.
Tell your friend to chill the funk out before I have to kick his ass!
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