Note to self

I love telling stories. Mostly about myself, to myself. They're too long-winded and filled with immense detail with a million little digressions, ones that imperfectly hop from one timeline to another. (Like the three seasons of Arrested Development!) I don't think anybody will ever be that interested in my past life events, including my own life partner! He'd be crazy to, honestly.

I love retelling stories to myself so I don't forget. Some bits of the innocence of childhood, travails of adolescence, trials and tribulations of the 20s. There's a certain mystique to them. Like they happened to somebody else. Did I truly know the story on the other side of the coin, while I thought Heads was all there was? When I repeat my own life events to myself, it's like I'm having an out of body experience, I'm watching myself be 15 again, be 17 again, be 22 again, be 27 again, all at the same time. Would I have lived those moments differently? Would my life have been different had I, let's say, been more considerate, more aware, more aggressive even?

Sometimes the stories are wonderful, of achievements and of personal victories, funny, even twisted, and I'm gleeful while narrating to self. "Yet another one for the grandkids!", not knowing if the grandkids bit is even happening or not, or whether the grandkids will be able to sit through them or not. Maybe times would have changed and my 'crazy' will be their normal.

Sometimes I get forlorn. Sad that it happened, at times sad that it happened and didn't continue any longer. I pity the emotions I wasted in 2009, I empathize with that girl in 2011 and weep for her. Weep because I can't believe she had to have 2 glasses of wine to put herself to sleep each night, or laugh, because well, isn't it a tad bit laughable? Somehow these stories pierce me a little more. Shouldn't those be the ones for the grandkids instead?

I live my personal one-woman-act each day, with its appropriate blocking and hand & eye gestures unrehearsed and done on the fly in my mirror.

At this point...I think I sound like a lunatic.

Most of my stories will live and die with me. Like all your stories live and will die with you. How do you feel about that?