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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #639
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "I Forgot What I Was Going to Write
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 About, So I Wrote This Instead"
888 888 888 888 888 "
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Phairgirl [5/11/99]
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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I have Alzheimer's Disease, I think, if people my age can actually
get Alzheimer's. I have the worst memory of anyone I know. And, by the
way, YES I am sober, and AM sober most of the time.
Today I was telling a story and forgot the whole point of telling
my story smack in the middle of it. In fact, it was the story about the
Sears telemarketer guy, about the sledgehammer, and right as I was getting
to the part where he had his supervisor looking for my card number, I
forgot my point and said something like, "So I was on hold, and all I
wanted to do was finish watching Young Guns, and the telemarketer started
saying... saying..." All faces were turned to me in anticipation. "He
started saying some fucked up shit."
"What kind of fucked up shit?" my brother asked me.
"Ummm, I don't remember," I replied.
"So you just told us this whole story, set us up for some great
wonderful punchline, and YOU DON'T REMEMBER??" he glared, increduously.
"Yeah. Hang on a minute, I know I had a point or something funny or
SOME reason to tell this story," I mumbled, smacking my head against the
wall.
Eventually, I did remember, about 2 minutes later. I was safe, that
time.
Last week, at a little shindig I attended, however, I was not so
lucky. In fact, right now I cannot even recall the conversation at all. I
just remember that I was telling a story and forgot what I was going to
say, right smack in the middle, and couldn't finish it. That was it.
I have come up with approximately 928374 brilliant ideas for
t-files. However, I have not written nearly as many. This is because I
DON'T REMEMBER what my ideas were, I just remember having them. I am
actually quite surprised that I have written as many as I have, although
many of them only exist because I wrote a note somewhere to myself.
Notes seem to be the only things that save my life. On my desk is a
5 subject notebook full of just about anything I've needed to jot down
while online since the fall of '96. This includes many defunct websites,
ancient e-mail addresses, and notes that read "Jolly=Aster" and
"asfjjk=styx" or "for Anjee Murmurs Pristine Smut Toy," if that makes sense
to anyone besides me and Anjee.
I forgot what else I was going to write.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #639 - WRITTEN BY: PHAIRGIRL - 5/11/99 ]