I May Not Win But I Can't Be Thrown

The trick with my memory is most the details fade. They get fuzzy and then they just get lost. People then remind me and sometimes it comes back and sometimes it is gone. Although I do not think they are really gone forever - I know they are they are there somewhere and if there is a hereafter then during it I will experience all the good ones over and over again and yet some how they will be completely new to me and still as great. Don't get me wrong - a lot of them stick and stick for a long time - cemented and persistently existing. Some good, some great, some painful and some hurtful. Most of my memories are connected to emotions. I may not remember the details of the movie Fame but I remember the intensity of Irene Cara singing Out Here on My Own and sitting in the darkness of the showcase cinema feeling I just witnessed a miracle. I don't remember anger, I cannot stay mad over anything too long and it is impossible for me to hold a grudge - all those things usually dissipate but I can remember the hurt, pain or sadness that is most often associated with anger.

I spoke recently of London 2006 and the specter of an empty seat that followed me everywhere. The seat that had been empty for a while at that point and some how just became evident in London. I know that shadow was mine but it was not of me. And although I owned it, I know who it was truly of. No flesh, no blood - just present and taunting. I remember that last time though that the shadow was flesh and blood, February 2008. Standing in the shirt I gave away for Christmas, with watch that I earned for working 5 years of working the same job, wearing the $175 shoes that I said go ahead and get them you deserve to treat yourself, seeing the healthy body that came from the personal trainer that I located and paid for, recognizing the neatly trimmed hair that my sister cut, and above all witnessing the still newly made nearly perfect vision of those glassless eyes that I used my bonus for and drove to another country to obtain.

See I remember specifics. The most specific detail was standing in utter speachlessness as Mika sang:
You talk about life, you talk about death,
And everything in between,
Like it's nothing, and the words are easy.
You talk about me, and you talk about you,
And everything I do,
Like it's something, that needs repeating.
I don't need an alibi or for you to realize,
The things we left unsaid, Are only taking space up in our head.
Make it my fault, win the game
Point the finger, place the blame
It doesn't matter now.

'Cause I don't care if I ever talk to you again.
This is not about emotion,
I don't need a reason not to care what you say,
Or what happened in the end.
This is my interpretation,
And it don't, don't make sense.