Memories

I don't really remember ever being happy. I can remember times I was distracted from my discontent. During good sex, on fast/high roller coasters, going down steep hills on two wheels without a helmet. Plenty of times I've dismissed, forgotten or otherwise not noticed whatever this terminal state of my mind is. It's not exactly depression. Not quite sadness. Maybe it's just who I am.

I've got memories all the way back to about five years old, but nothing really spectacular. The first tooth I lost right before kindergarten was set to begin. The JcPenny catalog my mother bought all my clothes from for the first 12 years of my life. These are my memories. Stupid, mediocre shit.

Well, the clothes remind me of the time my mother freaked out because whatever husky size I'd been wearing didn't fit anymore. The jeans, I believe were pink, size childs husky, 16 1/2. There was a lot of yelling and you're so fat's. Like I didn't get that enough from the other kids.

I still cried back then. Hey, I was just a kid. So I cried. And she yelled. And still the pants didn't fit.

I could probably put those same pink pants on right now and have room to spare, but strangely that's little comfort to me now.

Maybe my memory is defective and it only saves the bad stuff. Because there have to have been good ones. There have to have been and it's my fault because I can't remember them.