When a blogger dies, does anyone notice?

Bill @ Pinklightsabre’s Blog on existence and whether it’s only real if you remember it. Always an evocative read, a dreamscape puzzle, a refreshing dip in the stream of consciousness.

Bill Pearse

There are many parts of my life I can’t remember and there are many reasons for that. I’d like to think of my brain as a well-organized refrigerator: I can reach in there with my eyes closed, and know where to find things. And if it’s not serving a purpose anymore, it’s just taking up space and getting in the way.

If I can’t remember what happened, did it? I used to struggle with this when I’d drink too much (it didn’t happen that often, as I recall). The scene would replay itself in the morning, when others had to fill me in. It was like a murder mystery, and I was sure to be the prime suspect.

As a control freak, it bothered me deeply that I was responsible for actions I couldn’t remember. And then I started to care less. That’s one thing I learned from my favorite…

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