In my imagination I have forgotten my password. This happens all the time; I lose my passwords every day. As a matter of fact, I lose them several times a day. I am the only person I know who loses her passwords as much as I do. It’s sad, really, that I can’t get into the discussion boards I value so much, places where I have so many friends, people I love, people who love me, people I need, people who need me. I can’t access my only connection to them.

Perhaps my password will dawn on me later in the day, but it’s also possible that I will never remember it again. It scares me because I am more and more alone, isolated because I can’t remember. Deb tells me that friends have come to visit or that I have gone out somewhere, but I can’t remember.

I sit in this room day after day. In my imagination I am alone and therefore lonely. In my imagination everyone has left; they’ve gone someplace more interesting. I don’t remember that they were here, that they touched me and laughed with me and talked with me. I don’t remember.

I remember working. I remember teaching. I remember my lovely students. I remember grading papers, going to meetings, dressing for work. In other words, I remember what it was like to be a professor. I was proud of my doctorate, proud to walk in the halls of a university. I remember all of that and I remember that I have lost it. Even as I write this, I am crying. I am crying because that’s in the present; it is sad.

I remember when I didn’t have to pay to have a friend. At this point in my life, my life is not about making choices; my life is about paying people to be my friends, to hang out with me, to be my friends. It’s sad really, to be in this position. I simply don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to change it, though.


3 thoughts on “I Remember
  1. Use your phone to take photos of things you want to remember, particularly the visits of friends you don’t have to pay. Put them in an album and spend your time reviewing it so that your memories are refreshed and reinforced. Try to remember to take your phone. Try to remember to review the album. 😉 Memory is a fragile thing and sometimes needs extra care.

  2. I’m commenting on your previous blog entry about sadness, your past, where you worry if people want to read this, etc. I read all of your entries (prose and poems) as testimonies, as eye-witness & i-body accounts, as comprising a documentary poetics where experience reflected upon and described is the document. This work — the shape/s of your narrative — will shape the lives of those you may never meet or hear from, in ways no one can predict.

  3. Thank you, Rhonda.

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