So, I started writing my mémoire, in a pretty rough draft format, and it brought back a lot more memories than I expected. It turns out that when you start to really concentrate on your past, you can pull out all kinds of interesting memories that otherwise would languish in obscurity. I spent almost two hours writing "stream of consciousness" memories without editing or spell checking. I suppose I might go back and edit the results into a second and/or third draft at some point, but who knows... my intention was not to eventually publish an autobiography or something.
No, my plans were to confront my demons, dredge up painful truths, and face my regrets. And, like anyone, I have a lot of all three. As I wrote yesterday, I felt a terrible sense of loss. Loss of innocence? Not sure. Loss of loved ones? Definitely. All of my grandparents and great uncles and aunts have passed on, and it is surprisingly painful to write about them even now.
I have only made it to the age of seven so far, but I have a whole year to write my mémoires to the age of fourty or so. I might go further, but my life is a moving target and I do want to finish this thing at some point.
The next entry will cover the move to the house on MacLellan St, meeting new friends, starting at a new school, and maybe end with my second sister's birth.
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