I want to remember happiness. I love reminiscing; I know it's nostalgic, doesn't achieve anything and some people think it shows signs of weakness/unhappiness, but I think it's a very natural thing. There must be a reason our brain stores things, more than just learning things. I can recite 50 States and their capitals, 195 countries of the world and about 130 of their capitals. And I'll still have that information in my brain in years to come - that's what I love. The brain is a magical thing, no one can completely comprehend the ins and outs, the reasons why or how, but the brain is impressive. And my brain impresses me daily. I will be thinking about something non-important and my brain works at lightspeed to bring a hundred related thoughts into view that I can pick my way through, I can figure out where all the associations and meaning comes from until I find that that first non-important thought was actually very helpful, one way or another. And I want my brain to be better, to be bigger, to be so full that I have to tell people my stupid stories otherwise I'll forget them forever - that's the dream of how I'll be when I'm 70 odd, grandmother, happy and simple living next to the sea somewhere in Europe. I'm so excited about being there.
But I guess I've got to live my life first. I've got to write those stories before I can tell them. I've got to have those kids to produce grandchildren, which means I've got to find someone who wants to have babies with me. Small screaming balls of pink made of my DNA. Most guy's nightmares. But for some reason I have faith in myself, that when I'm with him, and when we're at the right age, and the right stuff is happening, kids will naturally happen. I am so scared every day that I'm infertile, that 'he' is someone I've already lost, or am going to lose because I can't seem to hold on to relationships: its like a big hurricane comes through my brain every now and then and makes everything move, change, and re-arrange itself, and I lose the love I once had. I tell myself I had good reason to break up with Shane, but maybe I didn't. Maybe I wasn't doing it for us, I was doing it for me. And maybe I should give people a better chance. One week seems a bit quick to know what I wanted. And maybe I should have been more willing to compromise, to figure out our differences.
Or maybe I should just apply these worries to the future. After all, worrying is like a rocking chair. So I gotta stop rocking, and start moving...