Never tell anyone anything. Seriously. I’m saving you a whole lot of stomach cringes and angry outbursts of curse words.
What I mean to say is that once I tell someone something about myself, that something attaches to that someone, which then means that I can’t think of that something without thinking about that someone. (Yeah, I know I have a way with words.) Take, for example, the way I like my coffee- two sugars and a dash of cream. I told someone about that and, Bam!, every time I make a cup of coffee that someone pops into my head as I watch swirls of cream magically change my black coffee to the deliciousness that is brunette coffee.
It might not seem like a big deal, but, as of this moment, I’m warring with nostalgia and we all know what happens when we pair reality with nostalgia. Nothing good happens, let me tell you. At one time, I was a connoisseur of nostalgia. My mind would live in those moments as my body would numbly perform the motions of life. It was a horrific time that I refuse to travel back to, but when I see something or smell something or hear something or touch something, a switch is triggered in my head and my mind is forced back to that person, to that moment in time when I said that I wanted to teach in S. Korea or that I poured milk into my bowl before putting in the cereal.
This is not a new revelation by any means. I know that we have memories and memories are a good thing, but sometimes I wish that I had kept my secrets to myself. It’s so much easier when that someone leaves and your left only with that something.