Stupid memories

I woke up in the middle of the night with my fiancé’s cough. I couldn’t go back to sleep until almost an hour later. Then I had this weird nightmare about our fucked up past. When her alarm rang the next morning, and she snoozed it for the usual 3 times before she finally turned it off, I was mad. It was a mix of lack of decent sleep, resentment for the past and the hate I already have for that fucking iPhone alarm.

Could have acted as I was used to when I felt hurt or angry, becoming distant and silent. Instead, I decided to try a different approach. I think that seeing her naked, sitting on her side of the bed before going to the shower, switched my mind to another mode. Or maybe I was just fed up with always letting my mind wonder to those dark places of a past of mutual damage. Whatever it was, it worked.

I pretended I was still half asleep when she looked at me. “Rest” she said as she got into the bathroom. After that, I was ready for a self-brainwash. “The past is dead” I thought; “It only continues to exist in my mind, and there only. So, if I can just live in a constant present tense, why bother with what happened in another time?”

I am aware I can’t change the past. It’s locked back there, in an inaccessible area of my life’s timeline. All I can do is thinking about it, and choosing between remembering the good memories or drowning in the bad ones. The choice comes pretty obvious then, innit?

For me, life’s been a university. I extract most of my lessons from it, from my experiences. The past has had that task in my personal journey. So now I can’t let it turn against me. I’ll filter out the bad memories as my lunges filter the air that I breath. I’ll let in all the good stuff at inhaling, getting rid of the toxic shit when exhaling. Those fucking stupid memories.

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