It’s been months and maybe even a year since I last wrote. Almost put my email address in the username box for the login. Apparently it has been, according to WordPress, 4 years since I registered on this webpage. 4 years. Wow. Almost as long as the time since my previous post.
Earlier this evening, I was sitting in the living room of my dad and stepmother. I was about to make a reference to my age (regarding some examples in a small discussion), and as I opened my mouth to complete the half finished sentence I was speaking, I stopped.
“Am I 21 or 20?”
I drew a blank. I honestly did not have the answer. I looked at my dad, and received a confused facial expression on pause. He too was unsure.
But as soon as we covered that I was in fact born in 1993, he instantly told me I was 21. Later, after my dads wife had gone to bed, and after an episode of Vikings – which is a really cool tv show, I brought it up again.
“I will definitely become senile at an early age if I don’t do something about my brain soon”, I told him. He asked me why, and I referred to the conversation earlier. “No, don’t worry about that. I forget my age too, you know. When people ask me how old I am, I want to say 51. But then I remember I was born in 51, and after thinking about it, to my own shock, I realize that I am 53.”
I suppose I should have had a comeback, something like “yeah, but you’re old”..
But my dad isn’t old, and I was tired.
So why is it that I don’t have this information printed in my memory? Howcome I can’t say it automatically, the minute somebody fires the question; BAM! 21!
Perhaps it’s not as crucial as I’m trying to make it. Maybe it’s just that I don’t care so much about my age. But I do have a bad memory, for certain things. Such as dates (birthdays, important historical happenings etc), names, duties, time…..
Howcome I can remember things of no importance so clearly, the small things that should go unnoticed, the things that no one cares about?
Maybe it’s because all I care about in the great fields and mountains are the tiny grey stones with different shapes that could assimilate something familiar and entirely different than a stone.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been absent, away, in a floating state of mind drifting away from my surroundings and into nothingness. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy and indifferent to everyone and every thing.
As I finished that sentence, I realized that I ask a lot of questions in my writing. Words such as; Perhaps, maybe, why, how come, is it because…..
So pointless. I know that you, random or not random person who reads what I write, won’t answer my questions. It might be because I always focus on finding my own answers, and usually plant some various conclusions as to what the answers might be at the end of the speculations. Maybe it’s because you don’t care about my questions, or are too uncertain yourself about the issue at hand.
Or, it could be, simply, that the answer that you do have is not the right answer for me.
I would prefer not to post this, but I have to. If I don’t, I fear that I might never get started on the publishing of posts again. So….