The Way I Was

Something about nostalgia makes me feel like a junkie who wants to quit, but keeps going back. What nostalgia does for me is something akin to what that junkie must feel: a need for it, but when you get it, it makes you wish you hadn't.

Nostalgia for me is a way of remembering my past. But hindsight has its bad points, too--like pointing out just how far back you can remember...and how much less you have ahead of you.

For me, it's a mixed thrill. I find that I keep going back to that well more and more all the time, even though I know that one day I will fall down that deep hole in the ground, and that's it--game over, end of story, finito.

And what will happen to my nostalgia when I'm no longer around to remember? Gone, like dust in the wind.

So why do I bother? Because someone has to. And it might as well be me.

Besides, if I share some of it with others, and they share it with others, etc., then a little bit of what I did might outlive me.

And that, my friend, is all the immortality we get.

Remember. Share those memories. Take pictures. GET THE WORD OUT!

You only get one trip around the block, so make it memorable.

And if I bring out a photo album or show you home movies when you come over, don't bitch at me--or I just might throw you out on your ass.

Wouldn't that make for a great memory? WHERE'S MY CAMERA???


And so it goes...