Sunday, September 20, 2009

Speak, .

I've prided myself since childhood on a sickeningly retentive memory. Dates, full names, and faces pile up in my noggin like earwax. (E.g., I visited Florida for the first time on June 19, 1989, and I lost my virginity on June 10, 1997.)

Unfortunately, since hitting my late twenties, I've found that there just isn't enough room in there for all that. My memory's been importing at a shittier bit rate, doing a kind of Cookie-Monster chew and not swallowing much of anything.

I've done some housecleaning and found suspect memories in there: things that may not have happened as I remembered, things that may not have happened at all, and weird lacunae for things that probably did happen. Then there are the things my memory stole: things originally described to me secondhand, which I eventually began remembering as having seen myself.

So I must ask: Was it just you, or was it both of us together, who saw a Somalian (or Ethiopian?) microcephalic pulling a toy dog (or duck?) on wheels in the food aisle of your local Target?

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