Somebody Else's Story

March 25, 2010
Still Thursday, 10:54 P.M.
Still Home

The night brings a plethora of thoughts that, in turn, trigger emotions which trigger more thoughts, triggering more emotions and round and round it goes. At fifty eight years old, though not decrepit or expecting to look death in the eye tomorrow morning, I am confronted by the fact that the major portion of my life here on earth is behind me. It is strange, in this place that I have come to, that so much of the last fifty eight years feels like somebody else's story. The childhood that I know belonged to the woman typing these words, has become lost in another lifetime, separated from the woman I have become. The people who played major roles in the scenes of my youth have taken on an image that seems conjured, fictitious, unreal, dreamlike. The memories, most of them heartbreaking, are scattered and can't be put in their proper order. It is time that I face this life I have lived, time to take it out in all its tarnished glory, view it through the eyes of the person it has formed, and chronicle it in some form that will hopefully take shape and make sense as it goes along. Each step I have taken has brought me, for some reason, to this place. Where am I going from here and will it seem to be somebody else's story when I'm through or will I recognize the heroine as myself?