Remember this was heard in a bar so the truth of it may be highly suspect. That doesn’t stop me from repeating it and cautioning the reader to take it with a grain of salt or in this case one’s favorite libation or bartenders choice. I’ve chosen to obfuscate the tale and tell it in first person so as to give no impression of whom the story is about….
I have a pretty uneventful existence. Well, ignoring a few personal issues. We all have a few minor problems that complicate our lives and so it doesn’t seem unreasonable to discount those when ascertaining the current state of things.
It’s 7:00 am and like all the previous days the alarm on my phone wakes me from the sanctuary that is sleep. Easing out of bed, I get my bearings before making the journey to the shower. I spy a handwritten sticky note on the wall “Shower This Way->” I say “spy” but it’s hard to avoid the 12 inch by 12 inch yellow square clearly written in large Comic Sans font. Apparently I have a lot of time on my hands. I also didn’t realize they made stickies that big.
I find the shower and let the hot water wake me as it cascades down my body. After drying off I exit the bathroom and head towards the spot where I woke up twenty minutes ago. I walk around the bed and to the door marked “Clothes Closet”. Entering it I find myself staring at hangers to the left and right of me. The hangers to the right of me are draped with shirts and the hangers to the left contain slacks.
The shirts are fairly bland. Mostly solid white or solid blue. The entire right side of the closet is dedicated to them. They are arranged in alternating colors. No color ever duplicates it’s neighbor.
The entire left side of the closet is dedicated to dress pants and does not allow any variety. They are all black and all are a cotton polyester blend.
I believe the closet arrangement is created to avoid repetition in consecutive days.
It’s created for someone who’s memory can not be trusted. The other stickies are for the very same reason.
The person with the memory issue is your’s truly.
To be honest its worse than a memory issue, it is really a matter of trust. Trust in my own ability to remember to write down the events of the day in an accurate manner leaving no room for exaggeration, sarcasm or humor.
I had learned the hard way after one particular day when I saw it fitting to use sarcasm, hyperbole and metaphors all in one days summation. I’m still besieged by Volkswagen Beatles crammed with clowns, rubber chickens and “Acme”signs. That’s a story for a different day.
You see I can never be sure if anything I remember is actually real or something my brain created from scratch.
It is what it is. Yes that common platitude falls woefully short providing salve on an open and painful wound. A wound that never heals since it’s reopened daily.
One day I shall take all of my daily notes and distill them into book form. A book of fiction of course because no one would ever believe them as true events.
Remember this was overheard in a bar.
