I err most often on optimism -- foolish, really. I imagine the still frames more richly colored, sugary and scripted. For example, I omit certain attempts at death-by-Dorito-consumption and possible engagement rings (on my mother's finger), large life-engulfing trunks, drunken welcome-homes, all consuming guilt, the kind of "good bye" that truly has the power to grind one's heart to dust. I have added brightly adorned Christmas trees, comfort and relaxation, smiles, security. Next year will be just long enough for my mind to fully buy into all of those forged memories and I will probably be surprised when it plays out just the same.
Friday, January 2, 2009
on to something new [ready or not]
I have so much to say and so little energy and liberty to etch it all across this screen. Christmas left something to be desired, new year's eve, however was perfect -- more perfect than perfect. This life has a way of letting one glaze every moment with high-gloss hyper-perfection, given the right timing and circumstance. Each breath and smile is caught and archived, pinned like fragile specimens behind glassy walls, slow motion memories with over-pronounced dialogue and historical inaccuracy.