Well it happened, and I'm the one to blame.
Similar to Miwa's go-to imitation of me when I lost my last even-numbered hard contact lens down her sink drain in LA (standing next to the bath towel she later learned her boyfriend at the time used to wipe his anus after pooping): "No ... no .. no . no no no nonononono!" (Imagine me saying that from large to small ellipses around the drain, like following a donated penny in to the center of the yellow funnel in front of a family museum.)
I just logged in to my yahoo email and my aol email for the first time in a while, and they're both wiped out. Gone. Nothing left. No archives. None of my old folders.
It started with waking from a dream (as it often does). As I sealed myself in my apartment from the dingy heat of the current California inferno, I spent a good 7 snoozes trying to remember the last time I woke up in a bed that was not my own. Going back 15 years at last. I was not successful. This exercise was the result of an imaginary sentimental being in a dream about peeking through windows and disappearing in to a shower, an amalgamation of all those people I was trying to remember.
I did find some good material in my gmail. We were not necessarily wholesome or innocent, but we were so earnest! I would send emphatic bursts -- a single email dedicated to a single link I found on the innurnet, with reactions the length of a novel. Sometimes when I struck the right funny bone of absurdity, I'd get some replies. After the failure of the two other archives, I skimmed back to the beginning of this journal, and I think I'd be best off reading it from beginning to end with a dose of forgiveness and I suppose a little bit of reverie. (I need to look in to that platform again that will print an entire livejournal in to one book.)
But those two archives ... and the archives I did find ... I'm actually questioning whether I've become more of a hardened simpleton now and if my past self was more alive. After decades of knowing someone, does it become humdrum mush, or do they remember all the wild adventures and thought experiments, and it's more alive in them than me? I should have filmed some of it.
I'm not keeping a diary. I haven't really written anything in years. And I do forget intense dreams within a few hours. So part of me is getting lost in the electronic ether, as expected, and yet I did nothing to preserve it.
I just logged in to my yahoo email and my aol email for the first time in a while, and they're both wiped out. Gone. Nothing left. No archives. None of my old folders.
It started with waking from a dream (as it often does). As I sealed myself in my apartment from the dingy heat of the current California inferno, I spent a good 7 snoozes trying to remember the last time I woke up in a bed that was not my own. Going back 15 years at last. I was not successful. This exercise was the result of an imaginary sentimental being in a dream about peeking through windows and disappearing in to a shower, an amalgamation of all those people I was trying to remember.
I did find some good material in my gmail. We were not necessarily wholesome or innocent, but we were so earnest! I would send emphatic bursts -- a single email dedicated to a single link I found on the innurnet, with reactions the length of a novel. Sometimes when I struck the right funny bone of absurdity, I'd get some replies. After the failure of the two other archives, I skimmed back to the beginning of this journal, and I think I'd be best off reading it from beginning to end with a dose of forgiveness and I suppose a little bit of reverie. (I need to look in to that platform again that will print an entire livejournal in to one book.)
But those two archives ... and the archives I did find ... I'm actually questioning whether I've become more of a hardened simpleton now and if my past self was more alive. After decades of knowing someone, does it become humdrum mush, or do they remember all the wild adventures and thought experiments, and it's more alive in them than me? I should have filmed some of it.
I'm not keeping a diary. I haven't really written anything in years. And I do forget intense dreams within a few hours. So part of me is getting lost in the electronic ether, as expected, and yet I did nothing to preserve it.