Sometimes I'm embarrassed by my memory. Recently in Montreal my mom and I were shopping at a family-owned bead store and the clerk, the daughter, was telling us a story about the only time her father worked in the store, a time when she was in the hospital. "Oh yeah," I said, "For a blood clot in your leg." Both the clerk and my mom looked at me as though I was insane. "How did you know?" the clerk asked. I'd been to that bead store before, and I just happened to remember hearing that story. "I was seventeen when that happened," the clerk said. (she was now in her late 30's) As we exited the store my mom said, "How did you remember that?" Perhaps my strong memory compensates for my shitty eyesight? My sister has a crazy good memory, too, so perhaps it is genetic.
And yet, there are simple things I can't remember like a) watering my plants, b) taking my pills c) turning on the dishwasher, d) where I put my glasses, etc.
Then there are things I must remember, like publishing is HARD and it's not my fault my book has been rejected a double-digit amount of times so far, that my August 30th (also my birthday and first day of school this year) deadline for a draft of my new novel is not set in stone, that life is short and why not reach out to people when you think of them, and listen to their stories when they tell them to you. Here's a little Tom Tom Club to get your booty shaking, and a little more if that just wasn't enough. Remember to let loose every now and then, and by the way...quick question...has anyone seen my glasses?