December Daily: memory
Dec. 20th, 2019 09:51 pmFor years I've been telling this story; I've probably even told it here: Once, when the spouse (who was then merely the boyfriend) and I were apart for the summer, I began to feel neglected because he wasn't writing me enough letters. So I wrote him a mean letter. But somehow I left it someplace, unstamped and unsealed. And when someone found it, they sent it back to me instead of to the spouse, with a note that told me I was getting a second chance not to send it.
Except that tonight he pointed out to me that I've conflated two stories -- one of me mis-addressing a mean letter so that it got returned to sender, and one of me dropping a letter unmailed and a stranger sending it with a note in it that said, "This is my good deed for the day."
As we get older, I find that all our conversations are precariously revolving around the gravity well of one ur-converation, which is: When, exactly, did that happen? Who was there? Where were we living? Perfectly good conversations will disappear into tedious minutes of date-recall. It's not even fun while we're doing it, but it drives us crazy not to be able to pinpoint when something happened, or where, or in what order. I don't understand it.
I used to worry about running out of things to talk about, and I'm very happy that hasn't happened yet, but this thing where we do have something to talk about but instead we spend our time miserably probing the limits of our memories ... stinks.
Comment to leave me a prompt! Steal
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26 -- In the absence of other input, I will attempt to analyze types of wassail verses
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