Make a Memory

Every man’s memory is his private literature. - Aldous Huxley

Build Your Private Literature Collection | #MakeAMemory

Every man’s memory is his private literature. - Aldous Huxley I'll always remember the first time it attacked me, vicious and unrelenting. I drove around a mountain curve late in the day. The angle of the sun was perfect to sear my retina as I vaulted around the elevated stretch of highway. I didn't think much of it when the black spot remained several days later. The sun was pretty bright, I told myself. It'll be normal eventually. Two weeks later, I went to see my ophthalmologist. My eye throbbed with internal pressure, plus black dots and floaters everywhere. He took one look at my eye and ordered every test on earth. "It could be multiple sclerosis," he squawked the day before Thanksgiving. "Or hepatitis/HIV/rheumatoid arthritis/encephalitis! Gee, why is your blood pressure so high? We might need to have you tested for that, too."

melancholy milepost 167

On Why Melancholy Is Necessary

Writer Laren Stover made a case for melancholy in Sunday's New York Times. She exalted every excuse to be blue and extolled every morbid thought. She even imagined a world where she could retreat with her own darkness and despair. I closed my eyes and conjured the last time my world was truly black. Hopelessly hopeless. Months and months and months of downright morbidity. I was thirty-one and dumped by a man I wanted to marry.

he wants to ride it

He Wants to Ride It All the Time

He climbed on it. Again. He wants to ride it All. The. Time. While I despair. Steroid withdrawal has transformed me into a chronically fatigued version of Cruella Deville. Unspeakable thoughts stream from both mouth and fingers. If I'm not pimping books, I'm most likely ANGRY and in bed. He wants to ride it anyway.