They Say the Mind is the First Thing To Go

I started out the day fretting over the fact that large chunks of my memories go missing on a relatively frequent basis. It's starting to be unsettling.

For example, that brain-burning pink, Parisian hotel room from fourteen years ago is somehow easily recalled. I spit gum out of the window and watched it hit - dead center - the top of a parked car, forming a perfectly flat circle. I sure thought that was clever, but, apparently much more that went on inside that room. A recent look through a friend's photo album proved that I actually co-hosted a small party in there; the European pinkiness of it all must have made it easy to pretend we were a group of sophisticated, worldly ladies (rather than the sheltered eighteen and nineteen year olds we, in fact, were). Why is it that don't I remember Jessica getting stuck between the two beds, having to be pulled to safety by her ankles? Why is it that I have no memory whatsoever of posing for pictures in a rose-shadowed corner, demonstrating the "French inhale" with a cigarette? What was I doing with a cigarette, anyway? These photos - taken long before I ever tried anything that might cause legitimate brain damage - sure do make it look like we were having one hell of a good time! So, what gives? Why can't I remember a thing about it?

I have no idea where I read the other day that creative-types tend to also be forgetful-types. Come to think of it, I do seem to take notes on every little thing that I think I'll need remember to keep my life together (translated as a cloud of post-it notes in my trail). Here all this time I thought I was just a touch absent minded, but now I know it's on account of I'm all kinds of creative and shit! One thing I've noticed is that my brain is non-discriminatory; that is, I'm equally capable of losing track of the fun life experiences as the nasty ones.

Chalk it up to my creative genius that, this morning, I arrived for my second scheduled punishment of the year - involving a dental hygienist stabbing and flossing her way through my troubled mouth of doom - without a hint of trepidation.