A Memorial Day musing from a while back: ‘memorial’, Joe: 05/31/00.
I think I have forgotten the entire year, 2000. I do not recall whether I wrote it (in handwriting) as ’00,’ or ‘2000.’ It seems unattached to the events which ocurred within its duration. The year 2000 feels like a year whose arrival I am still anticipating. Come to think of it, last year and this year both feel that way, too.
A few months ago at work, where we write the date on hundreds of forms per day by hand, I wrote 10/19/86. I don’t remember the month and day when I wrote it, but that is what it looked like. It came as clearly and naturally as if I had been writing it all day long. I stared at it for an uncomfortable moment, pretending to wonder what it might mean. I pretended not to be embarrassed, but I threw the page away. And I pretended that I am not evading life, but living it.
Excuse me but, what year is it? I know it is absurd of me to ask, but I seem to have been away. I don’t think I know this place, nor this body of mine, nor this life I apparently have lived.
Happy Memorial Day.