Hey, life? Are you kidding me?

That's no fun . . . .

"If you had to decide between the two, would you rather forget all of your memories or never be able to make new ones?"

Well, let's see . . . what a sucky choice to have to make.

Either I lose all the memories that make up who I am or I quit experiencing life basically.

Though I've had no caffiene yet, so my decision may be skewed, I would go with losing all my memories. Experiencing the first snow, my son's first words to me, the taste of homemade dumplings for the first time might be kinda coool. I mean I know the joy I get now from seeing my son experience something for the first time; almost like reliving that experience through him.

Then again, I guess he would have to explain to me that he was my son. For some reason right now I find that hilarious.

Ughh. . . I'm perplexed again. One of the things I like about myself is i have a good memory, and I'd have to throw that away and start again. But then again, I'd be throwing the bad memories out too. I'd have to relearn how to deal with pain and loss, though I don't think there is really a "way" to deal with it. I wouldn't remember my grandfather, but I know my grandmother would sure endless hours giving me the memories of him.


Oh oh oh this is almost like THE GIVER. If you've not read the book, you need to. Thought provoking, various issues, well-written. It's by lois lowery.

Okay, i've rambled enough. Well, not quite I have one more thing to say.

Reason 26043 of why to proofread your writing (except of course in blogs)

My students are writing to Marines overseas. As I read through their letters I came across this one:

Dear Marine,
I am from a small town named Jones. I do very well in school. In fact, I'm a straight student.

I pulled the boy aside yesterday and asked him to look at it and see what might be wrong. He says, "Ohhhhhh man. I spelled straight wrong."

"Ummmm no. Read it aloud."

He did, as he turned a nice crimson red.

"you weren't really sharing your sexual preferences with our service men were you?" I asked praying for the answer to be no.

As all color drained from his face at my bluntness, while never meeting my gaze, he quietly pleaded to be able to rewrite it.

One more for the books.

Audra