Tag Archives: memoir

James?

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Every year when the Oscars come around I remember that you would rent a tux for the Oscars party that you always had in your dorm room. We would cut the pizza into small square pieces to act as hors d’oeuvres for the evening. That particular year, 1996, you were crazy about Kevin Spacey’s run for Best Actor in The Usual Suspects.

I absolutely hate that I am not entirely sure that your name was James. I think it was, but I can’t be sure, especially since you were enamored with director James Cameron. So, you see, it’s entirely possible I can be mixing up your fandom for him as your name.

I have this thing called dissociative identity disorder, and my memories of my life are fleeting and incomplete, at times. The memory of you is one that I wish was more complete because when I think of you I always smile.

We were college debate team partners, but we never took it seriously. While we should have been learning more about both sides of the NAFTA debate I was listening to you lecture me on why James Cameron is brilliant (your point of view), or why the book Friday Night Lights should be a movie (It happened!). Your film lectures were far more interesting than our debate topics. Perhaps that’s why we never advanced or placed in any of the debate tournaments we entered.

Your part-time job was at the movie theatre, of course. But not just any movie theatre. You worked at the old movie theatre in town that was barely holding it together. They didn’t even have a modern ticketing system. You gave out red tickets for admission that resemble those red tickets you get in a 50/50 raffle. But you were so proud to work there. I loved how seriously you took your job there. You treated it as your first job in the film industry.

And then I met her. I met Kat, and you saw right through her. But I did not. I was in love, and I thought you did not get me. You tried to warn me, but, instead, I got mad. I felt misunderstood, and I moved out of the dorm so that I could be with Kat. You were right, after all. She was bad news. It only took me 10 years to figure it out.

What I’ve written here is all I remember about you. This is it. I know there’s more. I feel there’s more, but I am not aware of any other memories with you.

And now here I am, many years later thinking of you as I do every year when the Oscars come around. The Oscars are all I have left of you. I really loathe awards shows, but I watch the Oscars in the hope that you’re watching as well. It’s also the only way I can thank you for giving me an appreciation of quality film-making.

The worst of it is that I am not even sure of your first name, and you were the real friend in all of this.

a dream defunct

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The idiot man who is your colleague means no harm in his intrusion of your personal space. He shoves his head in front of yours while he’s standing beside you. He’s stupidly trying to be funny. But he takes you by surprise, and your body starts shaking, and your head starts racing, and you’re off and gone.

You’re trying to find your way back, but the world is a blur. Desperately, you want to convince yourself that nothing scary is happening now. You tell yourself that right now you are okay. Nothing is awry. You just have a stupid colleague, that is all.

But the message is not delivered from your brain to the rest of your body. Your body rebels against your brain. It fights back, and insists that your brain is wrong. Body insists on never being wrong again. Brain has no chance in this fight.

Somehow, you get home. There’s a part of you that’s hungry, and there’s a part of you that just wants to die or sleep or both. You decide that if you’re going to continue with this life you need to eat something. The walk from your bedroom to your kitchen feels Herculean. You live in 860 square feet. The kitchen is seconds away from your bedroom, but it might as well be in another county.

You stumble your way into the kitchen, and you find baked bbq chips with a December 2013 expiration date. You then find slices of Gouda cheese. Great, a carb and a protein! A balanced meal will have to come another day. The chips are used as if they are crackers with the cheese. It would all be amusing if it weren’t for the fact that this is truly all you could muster for dinner. No lie.

You used to dream of a day when this madness would end.You used to think it was a dream deferred for another day. But, no. It is a dream defunct.

Thank You

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I am acutely aware that I am sporadic on here with posting, and with replying to comments. I am also not good at following other’s blogs. It’s a wonder that I still have supportive readers out there.

And, so, thank you beyond measure for sticking with me, supporting me, reading my blog even in the face of epic silence when I am late replying to comments, or very tardy with the next post. Your support is not unrecognized.

Sometimes it’s all I can do to post, and then I just kind of float on by until I post again. I’m realizing more and more how dissociative I have been through out my life, so dissociative that it became a reflex for me, a default of sorts. This past weekend I’ve really noticed the extent to which I tend to dissociate. I noticed this because it was like world around me was sharper, louder, clearer, like a swath of cotton was pulled away from my face, and the world became more apparent to me. It was the first time I felt like I was in the world, and not a spectator to it.

Thank you for sticking with me, and I will try to be better at being engaged on here, but just know that if or when I do disappear that I am trying to get back. I will always try to get back. I promise that.