Thanks Dearie

A Two-in-One Response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Complicated

Today’s prompt of complicated, I am merging with my ’30 day Writing Challenge’ day two: Your earliest memory.

I have spoken of memories before on my site here. Those who know me on a personal level will know that I have a shocking memory for ordinary things and an amazing trigger memory for academic and irrelevant aspects. The first memory that I can remember, well, question is, was it even mine?

The notion of memory is such a strange one because it is not solid. We know this because we forget. We forget, and we misremember. Ever had it the case that you are recalling a memory with a friend only to realise that you placed the wrong friend in that memory?

This could have been for a number of reasons. Maybe you really wanted that person to be there or there was someone there that reminded you of them. You might have even told the memory before to someone and intentionally placed said friend into the memory to make them look better/worse, and then in your present retelling of it, you now genuinely believe that lie that you told. Memory is malleable. Memory is not hard set. My earliest memory that I can think of comes to what I can remember was happening in my dreams when I lived in my old house.

I would constantly fall off the bed onto the concrete floor and I wouldn’t wake up at all. My parents would charge around the house brandishing a rolling pin to see who was breaking in. Nope. Just my slumbering self, tumbling onto  the floor. I suspect that this is because of the kind of dreams I used to have. I would constantly dream that my soul left my body and floated around the house. Wandering through the passageways and snacking on whatever leftovers were in the fridge. The dream itself was peaceful but there was one aspect of it that utterly terrified me. There was an archway in that house that I would have to pass through if I wanted to leave my room. If I remember this correctly then it was every third time that I passed through that arch that I would become locked in place. It was as if I would get trapped in a stasis field and not be able to move myself.

I suspect that this was the cause for my not waking up when I hit the ground. I cannot remember what the exact correlation between dream and fall was, but I feel as if there was a link and as I have nothing else to go on. I shall accept that as potential truth until I can recall more about the situation.

I also used to be rather chubbe. Needless to say I was quite a heavy sleeper.


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