statute of limitations.

It's not, like, a fantastic idea, as a general rule, to live in the past. I do think I've figured that much out.

I mean, it's just sort of... there. Whatever happened, happened, as Daniel Faraday would say. They are matters of record, even if the only record that exists is in your head, or someone else's head.

Except those two records don't always see eye to eye, or synapse to synapse. (And now I sound like Ben Gibbard.) There are events in my life of cosmic magnitude and limitless significance, and these chapters, essays, dissertations which I study and analyze and deconstruct in an effort to figure out What The Hell My Deal Is... those same events are mere footnotes in the ongoing autobiographies of the other parties involved.

It's probably better that way.

And maybe those events aren't quite as significant as I remember them to be. A guy named Leonard (just to round out the pop-culture references) once told me that memories aren't that reliable, that they're not even that good, that they're an interpretation and not a record. Maybe that's for the best too.

We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are.


My mirrors suck, though. In my mirrors I'm always having a bad hair day, it's always the not-so-good side of my face, the lighting's all wrong, I'm squinting, and I didn't have time to shave.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in these mirrors and the recollection is so sharp that I gasp for air as the embarrassment and the pain and the shame and the guilt flood over me, drowning me, battering me like that time I went down that one water slide at Seven Peaks and I wasn't ready and forgot to cross my arms and legs and cover my mouth and I ended up with a bellyful of extra-strength chlorinated water and I was seeing spots in front of my eyes from the lack of oxygen.

It's a lot harder for me to find a good mirror. They're there -- but they're hazy and indistinct, and it usually takes some sort of external stimulus to resurrect them: the scent of a perfume (they say that olfactory recollections are the strongest), the taste of a certain dish at a certain restaurant, any number of pieces of music (my first kiss: "Jeremy," by Pearl Jam, and it wasn't on purpose, I swear, it was just on the radio).

Maybe that's why I like re-reading books, re-listening to favorite albums, re-watching TV shows where I know all the lines. Those are mirrors where I don't have the burden of a reflection.


It's been said that we all reach the future at the rate of sixty minutes an hour. But some of those hours contain more minutes than you might think.

1 Response to statute of limitations.

  1. Andy says:

    Didn't have time to shave?

    Then grow a beard.

    I'm speaking both metaphorically and literally.