20070927

SAD

There's this friend I used to have who'd always make fun of me when it rained. In the rain, I'd cycle slowly, just barely faster than a walking pace. She thought it was hilarious. I would tell her that I was afraid of getting a black streak up my back if I went too fast, that as a child I can remember ruining my favourite t-shirt that way. Also, it's harder to brake in the rain, both for me, and for cars.

My right hand has a band-aid across the meaty part at the base of the thumb. My left knee has a band-aid that won't stop leaking blood. Sitting at this desk, every so often, I'll suddenly feel my leg get wet and I'll see a trail of red running down my leg from the band-aid. My head aches in the front.

With the bus in front of me I had to hit both brakes and twist the front tire. That was when the bike slid out and somehow sent me sailing, skidding along the rain-soaked pavement. I jumped up off the ground, ripped off my helmet, threw my bag down and paced back and forth. There was a stream of conciousness coming from my mouth, mostly the words shit and fuck. And fuck. I'd pause and look at the gouges ripped from my knee and hand, past the skin, past the red flesh underneath and into a layer of white, and I'd start pacing and swearing again.

Sitting here typing this wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be out watching somebody's kid tonight. She wasn't happy when I called to say that I couldn't make it. Neither was the mother.

In the morning my arrhythmia was going. I got up, showered, and sat down in front of the computer. I sat there all day. I didn't read, watch a movie, I just sat there. When my father left for the weekend I didn't get up to say goodbye. I can't even remember if I called down anything to him. I got up from my chair with just enough time to get to my friend's place if I travelled at my top speed.

Sometimes I wonder who names diseases. My second grade teacher was named Sandra Beach. Sandy beach. Why would anyone do that to someone else? The acronym for Social Anxiety Disorder, the acronym is SAD.

20070912

Do you want to remember your life?

We played a game tonight where each player takes on the persona of an amnesiac who has signed up for radical memory recall treatment. Throughout the game, you pretend to be this person who remembers nothing of their past, and between you and the others, you determine what your happiest memory is, your most unpleasant memory, and the events that lead to your amnesia.

At the end of the game, you're asked one question, do you want to remember your life? If you say yes, then you remember everything, and your life continues on from the point where the amnesia kicked in. However, your memories are determined not just by yourself, but also with the input of the other players. And they may help you remember things that you would rather not know about yourself. What you've said. What you've done. It may turn out that the you sitting there undergoing the treatment might not like the person you now remember you are. You may not want to remember your life.

20070911

Am I peeing myself?

A girl at a beauty pageant, during the final round of competition, when it was just her and four other girls left who could grab the title of miss whatever, she screwed up her answer. And screwed up isn't really the right word, she gave an answer so incoherent, so nonsensical, that the show had to go to commercial break so that the host could stop laughing. This answer was given in front of the judges, the other contestants, her family, the studio audience, the viewing audience, and, eventually, in front of everyone who had access to the internet.

When I was made aware of her blunder, I forwarded the video to everyone I knew. We spent the rest of that day emailing each other back and forth, dissecting her answer, parsing the run on sentence that she went with, trying to find any logic to it whatsoever. We failed. Although I hear that she appeared on a morning talk show the very next day in order to explain herself. That video is now circulating the internet as well.

Years ago, during the Olympics, the girl I was seeing she was talking about the hundred meter sprint, about how it must feel to be on that final line, getting ready to run against the fastest people in the world in the biggest race in the world. I said to her that I knew what I would be thinking if it was me down on that field, "oh my fucking God. What the fuck am I doing here? I can barely run the one hundred in fifteen seconds. This is so embarrassing. Am I peeing myself?"