I have a pretty awesome set of friends, who I love and adore, and if I could, I would tell them everyday how much they mean to me. Oftentimes, I am sharing stories with them and schmoozing away.
And then it hit me, like a large trout on the face (recycled IRC joke), that I am not much without my stories. What if I run out of stories to tell? Or worse still, what if I forget my new stories?
Recently, it became apparent that I have been forgetting details and things I need to tell people. I don’t know how it has come to that, but my memory is now often mouse, than elephant. Oh then, how how. Old age, you is a cursed wretched thang. Also, the recycled IRC joke is evidence of a senior moment, cos when you're young, everything is new and first. When you're old, everything is... well, been there done that.
I cannot meet Dian Love and tell her “jom citer citer” because obviously I have nothing to tell. Who will love me then?
Le sigh and bye bye.
- love and light, adrenalene