Friday, June 16, 2006

American Lit

A bad memory isn't necessarily a bad thing. For instance, mine keeps me from worrying about the things I can't do anything about. Like not having enough money currently to pay TM's summer tuition AND the mortgage. Or any of the other bills. I feel like the dad in Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron"-- you remember, he was too intelligent, so he had to have his brain signals constantly interrupted in the name of making everyone equal. Well, I'm not too intelligent anymore... Sigh.

On the other hand, on those odd occasions when something has gone missing (like TM's paycheck from that one day), it would come in really useful to be able to actually recall ever having seen it, and possibly even where that was. Or to be able to remember that bills are due, before they're OVERdue. Things like that. I used to be the memory bank for this family. Now, I'm bankrupt.

Sometimes it's just little things that I forget, like that I might have wanted to do a "13" list for Thursday, after I had such fun with the one last week. Nah, it didn't even cross my mind yesterday. Not once. Might've been all that pain-- but that didn't stop Harrison Bergeron. No, a shotgun blast did.

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