Note to subconscious: Memory trumps teeth and casinos

Some people have serial novels or serial spouses or serial incarnations. I have serial dreams. Before I was pregnant with Emma, I was constantly dreaming of being lost in Las Vegas. In an airport or on some dream version of the strip or sometimes in a regular ol’ shopping center. Oftentimes it didn’t even LOOK like Vegas, but I KNEW it was. What I was searching for I may never know. And lucky for me (or maybe my husband), I’ve quit worrying about it. In college, I went through this phase wherein most of my nightmares included a scene with my teeth rotting out of my head and dangling by a thread, sorta like Wile E. Coyote after crossing paths with something heavy and highly unexpected. Maybe it was because I HAD a rotting tooth at the time, or maybe it was because I couldn’t afford to get it fixed, and therefore chose to fret over it subconsciously since, consciously, I had so many more pressing matters to fret over. Whatever the deal was, I’m reliving those moments while reading Frank McCourt’s second memoir, ‘Tis. He’s FANTASTIC at placing you in his shoes — I find myself ABLAZE with his embarrassment, perturbed with his frustrations, or weighed down with his Catholic guilt… I can’t say enough about how readable he is. (Thank you, Allan.) In 'Tis he’s still got that horrible eye infection goin’ on, too, which, incidentally, also served to bring back ugly memories for me while reading his first memoir, Angela’s Ashes. Don’t get me wrong, my previous maladies aren’t even in the same galaxy as his, but what common pain I have felt, he can make me feel it all over again. The man can WRITE. But what amazes me even more than his writing skills is his MEMORY skills! Which brings me to this point— yesterday I was listing the reasons why I NEED to write, and I forgot one of the more important reasons…*drumroll* -- Because I need to counter my revisionist memory! I tend to remember the bad things as not NEARLY that bad. And I go back and forth on the good things; sometimes I forget them altogether. Other times, I add value. So writing allows me the ability to always refer back to my past with a smidgen more clarity. I still might add value or revise the situation to suit me, but the hope is that I can reevaluate said situation more coherently when I read it later, as opposed to trying to merely remember said situation in the usual inconsistent way.

All of this, by the way, is HIGHLY inexcusable since, unlike Mr. McCourt, I’ve never actually starved to near death, or suffered infectious diseases to near death, nor can I blame an underdeveloped memory on poor education! So what IS my problem, anyway?! If I insist on fretting in my serial dreams, I think it would be obvious to even the most casual observer that LAX MEMORY should be the issue! I’d send a memo to subconscious about it, but the Vegas and rotten teeth dreams didn’t do a THING to solve my problems.