Promethazine Haze

I keep saying this over and over again because I think it is amusing. Then I imagine that I am back in the cast of HAIR, and all of us are lying on the floor of the Planet Earth Theatre, totally doped up on cough syrup. It's actually not an exciting high or anything...I just feel like shit and I need to fantasize about stuff that is slightly better than my current condition. :) Can you believe some people (teenagers) will drink cough syrup to get buzzed? Not worth it, my friends....go take a yoga class.

This morning I awoke knowing that I had a plump, juicy grapefruit at my disposal in the kitchen. It was the first thing I went for. As I sliced it and began to cut a round circle just underneath the rind, I had a small flashback to being in my grandmother's kitchen, the memory of her slicing the grapefruit in the exact same way. To this day I serve my grapefruit the same way - I cut in in half, then use the knife to slice little grapefruit triangles to scoop out with a spoon, finishing it off by dabbling a little sugar on top (except now I use agave nectar instead of sugar). It was such a treat as a young girl to have my grandmother do this for me, it was like she took extra care in serving me something special. I suppose I find similar enjoyment in doing it for myself.

What really struck me (and this occurs to me fairly often), is that I have such few memories of my grandmother. I have such few memories of my childhood, really. I remember some bad things that went down...in fact, I remember some of those bad things as if they only happened a week ago, with great clarity and vividness. But if you asked me to tell you about the games my friends and I used to play...nothing. It strikes me as being particularly abnormal when I have conversations with my old childhood friends, and they say things like "remember that time when..." or "remember how we used to..." And, I don't. I find myself explaining to them that it is not personal, because I don't want them to believe that their existence had no impact on my life, I just genuinely don't remember. It makes me sad. I feel that I either missed out on a whole lot, or I'm missing out now, unable to enjoy those past moments because I'm stuck on some B.S. I'd be better off forgetting.

Or does it matter at all? Should I not be content to let it all go anyhow, and just enjoy today, turning myself to face tomorrow instead of yesterday?

At the end of the day, I suppose it "is what it is," and I probably don't need to spend my time worrying about it...but I'd like to. I'd like to be able to tell you every detail about my grandmother's house, about what she wore, how she smelled. I'd like to remember more than just basic facts. I'd like to be able to transport you there, so that you could truly experience some of the stories I have to share.

I guess that's why we have imagination. :)