Sunday, January 23, 2011

Will I remember?

Helloooooooooooooo readers!

(Whenever I type that, I feel like I'm using a British accent. Just a point of information.)

But really, the point of this post (I know, GASP, a point?) is a recent Panera day I had with some people. Now, for those of you who don't know, Panera is basically amazing with a capital AH. You should totes ma goats look it up if you haven't been there. DO IT! NOW!

Oh, and this post is a bit different. But I am confident in your coping mechanisms.

Anyways ... back on my train of thought ... we were having a major do-work-slash-study day there with a bunch or peoples and it was quite interesting. At one point, we started talking about pictures that we would want to look back on when we were older. And that got me thinking, what would I remember from this time of my life? Would I remember my beast of a hairdo? Would I remember my friends? Would I remember these pictures taken by a webcam in which my head is sideways because we were all squeezing in one booth? Maybe. Can I check E) All of the Above? Because those feelings are what I will remember when I look upon this awkward time of my life, not that one day where I did that thing.

But onto the title of my post ... What memories/feelings will I recall? The bad ones or the good? I'm wishin' and hopin' and prayin' (I think that's the lyric) that it will be the good, though I know that will prolly not be the case. Even now, I remember snippets of the good times I've had with people, but can recall entire segments of bad memories. They stick to my mind like glue while the happy things of my past seem to just leave impressions like footprints in the sand. Easily defined for a split second, but just as easily washed away in a torrent of water. However, I'd like to think that I've changed. Now, I force myself to focus on the good, because who wants to look back in their memories to just see a black hole? Not I.

Maybe this picture with a webcam that makes me look exceedingly pale will be one of those lasting images in my head. Maybe I'll sit in my pink-and-purple-flame-painted rocking chair, at 80 years old, fondly looking with my mind's eye at the one strange curl that decided to put in an appearance. But maybe not. Instead, maybe I won't even remember what a webcam was while I ride on my hovercraft. Or, maybe, I'll just sit there, rocking away, thinking about nothing at all.

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