Friday, November 18, 2005
I found this in one of my books this evening. The handwriting is mine. It used to be that everything that mattered happened recently.
It's true statement, really, or at least true for me for over the last few years. It used to be everything that happened either happened not that long ago or happened when I was, to greater or lesser degree, still a kid. Now I say things like "Oh, that was 10 years ago" or "I haven't seen so-and-so in 7 or 8 years," with no sense of irony, because there is none.
Even so, when did I write this? Did I make it up, or did I take it from somewhere? And why did I write it on a sheet of memo pad that says "We were just friends who had sex"? Where did that come from? When in my life was I writing with a gold pen?
It used to be that I would only write something like this down if it struck me as especially interesting. When would I have thought this observation was interesting enough to write down?
And when would I have used it as a bookmark? It used to be that I was so absent-minded that everything that mattered would end up getting used as a bookmark: paychecks, my phone card, ketchup packets, kleenex.
It used to be that everything I'd written I'd remember having written. Now I keep getting confronted with random instantiations of my thoughts and having no idea of their provenance, or even if they were my thoughts or just my transcribing someone else's. It used to be that I knew when I was stealing material from other people. It used to be that I knew when I was repeating myself. For that matter, it used to be that I knew when I was repeating myself.