Scraping the Bottom

I don’t remember a lotta things. I mean, my memories are always hazy, fuzzy round the edges, confusing and contradictory. Sometimes, I find myself remembering things in third person…can you believe that? Too much Tomb Raider, GTA, Max Payne and MGS, in all probability. Even my most cherished memories, or most damaging traumas, are blurry and imprecise.

So finding five events that I can recall with absolute clarity is basically impossible.

The sad thing is that it seems pop culture – quotes, lyrics, names, films – stick in my head more permanently than any of the stuff I actually experienced. History clouds my head too, with dates and landmarks and battles and revolutions that overpower anything that happened in my own life.

All that pops into my mind are snippets, little pieces of the jigsaw puzzle… Sitting in Highbury’s North Stand with dad on my 13th birthday – the first time I saw the Arsenal in the flesh. Sitting opposite my first girlfriend on her couch, nervously apologising for rambling on, to which she replied, “I bet I could think of something to shut you up” and leaned in to give me my first ever kiss. Sitting at my PC, playing FIFA on a Saturday afternoon, when dad comes in and sombrely tells me that he had an affair, mum just found out, and – to answer my immediate question – no, he hadn’t bought any donuts.

There sure is a lot of sitting in my clearest memories, huh? Once I’m on my feet I’m too light-headed to retain anything, maybe. Clearly I have trouble committing stuff to memory unless my butt is inert and shielded. My posterior requires stable, still support in order to preserve the moment.

Some form of literal anal retentiveness at play, perhaps?

Solidarity, brothers & sisters…

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About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Autobiographical and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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