|Though time she knows her needle well...
||[Apr. 7th, 2009|01:53 am]
|||||Deirdre Flint - the marrow of my bone||]|
I took out some CDs that I burnt years ago, and realised that they're a collection of memories I'd honestly forgotten about. It brings me back to a time that's shaped me profoundly, but that I need little reminder of.
It's funny when you look back to 7 or 8 years in the past. The stuff that happened is mostly disconnected, and all you have are these little textual reminders that pluck what few emotional chords are left. There's the resonance, some degree of sympathy, but less self-pity - or in my case, a whole case-load less.
It's weird looking back and trying to figure out the gaps I left in my stories. I'm not sure how much this applies now, but whenever I kept my semi-blog, I rarely talked about the issues, but instead left hints to the structure, allowing a lot of room for the issue not to be said, but to place the bounds so that people would know what I talked about. Now, I look back and try and figure it out.
Sometimes I said it right out, and it reminds me of conversations, with minutiae I've long forgotten, but somehow thought important enough to write down; for instance, I don't know if my eyes are still the same. I hope not.
Funny thing is, I can still see bits of me now in the former me - the bit that knew the politics, and didn't hesitate to pick holes in a plan, although I was a little ruder. In general, I tend to be rude for effect, although back then I think I was a little to liberal with it.
It's funny what's changed and what hasn't.