on the unreliability of memory

dear world, dear life,

today I write to you in order to acknowledge that my view of you is wildly skewed. and that I’m sorry for that fact and also, on a more upbeat note, that I’m attempting to realign my perceptions of the past and the present to be more accurate and truly appreciative. but it takes constant work and a degree of vigilance I’m unaccustomed to, and I am human, so there are recurrent points of slippage.

take, for instance, old grudges. they lurk! o, how they’re inclined to lurk. and fester and shift and morph and grow into shapes of things that no longer even remotely resemble what they purport to represent in the real world.

this morning I had a big bout with my own carnival of distortions– went the rounds with all three rings, and, after some possibly unnecessary woe and tears, emerged clearer-eyed and -headed and -hearted on the flip side, I’m *most* pleased to inform you.

imagine, if you’re game, how one might misremember– o, willfully! overweaningly! albeit all on the quiet-like and subconscious– the sequence of events that transpired in actuality– malign and sneaky retrospect recrafting the stage to cast so-and-so as pencil-mustachioed villain– while documentation from the time reveals this person in the guise of protagonist.

ultimately, I’m left feeling not altogether certain which view, if either, is real or accurate. maybe both, at least experientially. but still. the wild pendulum of perspective is something to contend with.

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