Consultation With My Memory

Courtesy of dadpad.org

Courtesy of dadpad.org

JOURNAL: “Well, it’s about time. You haven’t spoken to me in a week.”

ME: “Sorry. I’ve been too busy making memories to record them.”

J. “You do know that without me you won’t be able to remember what you did, don’t you?”

M. “Yes. And why do you have to bring that up every time?  Do you know how annoying that is?”

“That’s my job. To remind you.”

“…And besides, I don’t have refills for my rollerball gel ink pens.”

“Granted, it does feel good on me, but there are other pens.”

“They’re just not the same.”

“You do realize that’s OCD don’t you?”

“Okay. Enough already.”

“So, you’d rather miss a week of your life just because you don’t have the right pen.”

“Listen, I could shelve you!”

“No, you can’t.”

“Humph. You’re right. Why does it have to be this way?”

“We’ve been through this before. You’ll have to talk to your whacked-out temporal lobe about that. But then again, I wouldn’t bother. You wouldn’t remember what was said anyway.”

“That’s just so unfair!”

“Oh boy, here we go again.”

“Why should I have to consult you just to remember what I did a month ago? That’s just…crazy.”

“Hey, watch the tears. You’re staining me.”

“Do you know how much of an inconvenience that is?”

“You’re one to talk. I get everything from grocery lists to phone numbers to garden layouts in here. I was not built for that.”

“But I can’t—”

“Look at my paper. See how thick I am? ‘Cause when you vent, boy does it hurt.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“And look at my elegant cover. Bamboo shoots of black to gray to white on a gray background with red edging. I can handle being taken to Barnes and Noble. But Chuck E. Cheese’s?  C’mon.”

“Sorry, but sometimes that’s the only time I can record without distraction.”

“Well, I can’t complain too much. We have seen some pretty cool places.”

“That we have.”

“But then you go off and leave me on the car floor for two days. Don’t I mean more to you than that?”

“Sorry. I got busy.”

“Okay. Just—promise me you’ll talk to me at the end of the day.”

“I will. You know me better than anyone else.”

“I mean, make an appointment if you have to.”

“Okay, just let me find my pen.”

“Here we go again.”

Fact versus Fiction

I scare him;

He scares me.

His numbers scream reality, concreteness, structure;

My letters whistle, float, sing, yawn, dream, elude, giggle, smirk, infuse.

His numbers rote fact, stare certainty;

My letters shine hope, jingle joy, whisper peace.

His trip is the destination;

My destination is the trip.

Our truths are absolute, but in different ways.