She Remembers Being Things
by Weirdness Magnet
July 21, 2005

She remembers being things. She recalls distinctly being able to write, and receiving compliments like, "You said it the way I always felt but couldn't put into words." She used to be good at it. But then she met ghosts in her computer that were much better at it than she was, people who sat in rooms all day long, reading and writing and thinking deeply about things, and writing brilliant things that made her think, "I wish I could write like that." She tried, but there was always so many other things to do, too: work and studying and cleaning and taking care of people and places and things and when there was time to think deep thoughts she tried but usually fell asleep before stumbling on anything important. When she had profound thoughts they usually happened while she was asleep and when she woke up the thoughts were mushy and she couldn't hold on to them.

When she was younger, she wanted to be a teacher. She was going to get her doctorate and help teachers do their jobs better. She was going to read and write and observe and discover important things and help teachers help their brilliant students be more brilliant. But she met a man who made her feel like she belonged, and she married him one evening in the winter. There were candles and her favorite music and he looked handsome in his tuxedo and he'd even grown his hair out the way she liked it, and how could she ever say no to a man who'd do that for her?

He gave her a comfortable home and rarely told her 'no.' She was free to keep a myriad of colorful friends and flit from this to that as her interests piqued and waned, and he never minded at all so long as she came home to him. And she always did, because she loved the way his eyes smiled at her and the smell of his skin after a shower.

But there were times when she remembered being something else. She can't always remember what is was, but she thinks it was supposed to be something other than what she is now, and doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Sometimes she wants to write, but then she reads the ghosts' writing and knows there's no time to be like they are and it makes her sad. She thinks sometimes to put her books and paper and pens away, and turn away from the ghostly voices in the computer and give her full attention to the people she can see and touch. She tried once or twice to put down the pen and paper but gave up and came back. She doesn't know if she has something to say or if she's just trying to remember the thing she forgot.
 

~end