Memory

I’m marking the 15th anniversary of my blog, a few months late. What began as exhibitionistic and therapeutic has become a memoir of my inner life through my fifties.

I’ve been building a chatbot to give access to my writing — not to imitate my voice, but to preserve it. This project grew from grief over my mother’s lost writings and a resolve not to leave my child without my output.

I’ve entereda new developmental phase: fantasizing about scenarios that can’t, shouldn’t, or won’t happen.

Contemporary events are the hooks on which I hang ancient feelings. Contemporary feelings are echoes, repetitions, of ancient feelings, attached to current hooks.

Another part of my mother’s abandonment of me, of my loss of safety.

Memory, truth, emotional experience, and the unconscious. WTF?

I’ve been to a lot of demonstrations in my life, but none more memorable than this one.

Kavanaugh’s response to the accusation against him reveals his unfitness to serve. And, his fundamental unfitness to call himself an honorable man.

Fond memories of a long-ago teacher of mine.

Descending a particular stairway at a particular subway station, I didn’t remember how I used to feel. I felt it.