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November 20, 2007

Lately, my thoughts have been spinning out of my head like spiderwebs. I grab at parts of them, but they disintegrate on me when I try to spin them out into cohesive tales, leaving a sticky and unpleasant residue on my heart.

I can’t remember if the dog’s been fed. Or if I paid the bills – yesterday I scoured the checkbook register three separate times to reassure myself that I did, indeed, pay the gas bill.

It’s more than just absentmindedly wondering if I left the coffee pot on. I am forgetting. Forgetting, especially the good things. Forgetting Tom’s babyhood. Failing to record Seth’s, and forgetting his adorable fatness, his Beavis and Butthead laugh, his clear desire to do whatever his big brother is doing.

That’s why I love the archives. I’ve been wasting time perusing them all evening, and found a few gems I completely forgot that I wrote. Do you remember Bruce? Or the one about the plate of worms? I don’t even remember writing this one.

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