If you glance at my desktop, all but one window will be closed. This window is Notepad. No matter what I'm doing, whether it's downloading songs or chatting on MSN or designing or reading or even typing something else, it's always there. It's there to record my thoughts and my feelings. Tiny snippets never blogged or tweeted, though many are. I use this open Notepad as my day planner, my life planner, my heart planner. If I see a website I like, I'll make a note of it, or/and if anything else appeals to me. A quote. A tweet. A phrase. A photo. Movie. News article. Link to a crayon drawing done by a 5 year old African boy with AIDS. Mostly, items that mean things to me in some nonsensical and silly or silently serious form or another. It's my Life-Pad. At the moment, it's propped open in the upper-right hand corner of my desktop, everything else has been minimized, and I'm typing up this blog post.

With every tap of the Enter key, I hear a sharp buzz as my monitor responds and as the Life-Pad gets longer. Each previous line reacting with one before that and one before that and soon enough, the lines disappear up through the Alt bar and the window border with the title and the little blue notepad icon to float off screen into pixelized oblivion.

My life has a similar screen. It follows similar patterns, events reacting with events reacting with events reacting with events...and soon enough, everything in my past slides up and away out of the restrictions in my life and mind - out of reach - out of the borders. Sadly, the undo button has been irreparably broken, and so I must live each and every day with the best of my ability, pressing the save button repeatedly with fervent hope and dream that I'll be able to remember what has gone by.

Through the years, I have been blessed with the curse of forgetfulness. I forget to do the dishes, and I forget to clean my room, and I forget that today I was supposed to work at 5 instead of 5:30. Yes, but not that. I am not scared of forgetting. No, not that. I'm scared of not remembering. Not remembering childhood memories. Not remembering my first stuffed animal. Not remembering home-schooled art-classes, or the hundreds of spiders whose homes were spun in my little playhouse. Not remembering pogo-stick jumping 1,985 times in my pj's in front of family and friends while having to go to the bathroom. Not remembering my first stitch, my last spanking, the last first day of my first high-school experience. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it so much. And I'm scared of it. Scared so badly that it'll keep getting worse - that all my little memories will float up and away past the Alt bar with the small blue notepad and all it's mini, pixelized spiral bindings.

And so I blog. I have realized that this is my main reason for blogging. I HAVE to remember things. Even if it's the small things. I never really post about the huge events we have or parties I attend. There's no large posts about birthdays or shopping excursions because, to me, those are great, but they're not what makes me the happiest. It's not really what happens on those days. It's more about who I spend it with and the 'moments' I share with those people. Witty, or supposedly witty, comments that make us laugh until our breath is stolen by the air into which the sound carries. Gentle touches that make the fairies hidden in nearby flowers sigh and plant riddles into our heads that takes us months to figure out and when we do we laugh and touch - to sigh all over again. It's the small things. Like chasing leaves, like sudden gasps at far-off sights, like fleeting anger and soft pillows to lay our heads in. Side by side. Until we can't think of anything more to say. Like the silence that follows that's more powerful than a shout or a laugh or a whisper or fear. Small, perfect things.

That's what I want to blog about - to remember. For the next little while, you might open up your browser window to type in my address and see a short post. That doesn't mean anything happened that wasn't interesting. It means that one tiny post is filled with the most beautiful things that have happened in my life, and that I felt like sharing only those with the world.

It isn't just about my life anymore. It's about me.

This window that's always open will be re-named today.

~K.L.

say something~

If you glance at my desktop, all but one window will be closed. This window is Notepad. No matter what I'm doing, whether it's downloading songs or chatting on MSN or designing or reading or even typing something else, it's always there. It's there to record my thoughts and my feelings. Tiny snippets never blogged or tweeted, though many are. I use this open Notepad as my day planner, my life planner, my heart planner. If I see a website I like, I'll make a note of it, or/and if anything else appeals to me. A quote. A tweet. A phrase. A photo. Movie. News article. Link to a crayon drawing done by a 5 year old African boy with AIDS. Mostly, items that mean things to me in some nonsensical and silly or silently serious form or another. It's my Life-Pad. At the moment, it's propped open in the upper-right hand corner of my desktop, everything else has been minimized, and I'm typing up this blog post.

With every tap of the Enter key, I hear a sharp buzz as my monitor responds and as the Life-Pad gets longer. Each previous line reacting with one before that and one before that and soon enough, the lines disappear up through the Alt bar and the window border with the title and the little blue notepad icon to float off screen into pixelized oblivion.

My life has a similar screen. It follows similar patterns, events reacting with events reacting with events reacting with events...and soon enough, everything in my past slides up and away out of the restrictions in my life and mind - out of reach - out of the borders. Sadly, the undo button has been irreparably broken, and so I must live each and every day with the best of my ability, pressing the save button repeatedly with fervent hope and dream that I'll be able to remember what has gone by.

Through the years, I have been blessed with the curse of forgetfulness. I forget to do the dishes, and I forget to clean my room, and I forget that today I was supposed to work at 5 instead of 5:30. Yes, but not that. I am not scared of forgetting. No, not that. I'm scared of not remembering. Not remembering childhood memories. Not remembering my first stuffed animal. Not remembering home-schooled art-classes, or the hundreds of spiders whose homes were spun in my little playhouse. Not remembering pogo-stick jumping 1,985 times in my pj's in front of family and friends while having to go to the bathroom. Not remembering my first stitch, my last spanking, the last first day of my first high-school experience. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it so much. And I'm scared of it. Scared so badly that it'll keep getting worse - that all my little memories will float up and away past the Alt bar with the small blue notepad and all it's mini, pixelized spiral bindings.

And so I blog. I have realized that this is my main reason for blogging. I HAVE to remember things. Even if it's the small things. I never really post about the huge events we have or parties I attend. There's no large posts about birthdays or shopping excursions because, to me, those are great, but they're not what makes me the happiest. It's not really what happens on those days. It's more about who I spend it with and the 'moments' I share with those people. Witty, or supposedly witty, comments that make us laugh until our breath is stolen by the air into which the sound carries. Gentle touches that make the fairies hidden in nearby flowers sigh and plant riddles into our heads that takes us months to figure out and when we do we laugh and touch - to sigh all over again. It's the small things. Like chasing leaves, like sudden gasps at far-off sights, like fleeting anger and soft pillows to lay our heads in. Side by side. Until we can't think of anything more to say. Like the silence that follows that's more powerful than a shout or a laugh or a whisper or fear. Small, perfect things.

That's what I want to blog about - to remember. For the next little while, you might open up your browser window to type in my address and see a short post. That doesn't mean anything happened that wasn't interesting. It means that one tiny post is filled with the most beautiful things that have happened in my life, and that I felt like sharing only those with the world.

It isn't just about my life anymore. It's about me.

This window that's always open will be re-named today.

~K.L.

say something~