Wombs and Mems.

So I was checking Denver's Facebook the other day and I came across his baby pictures.
He was like any other baby is when they are first born.
Slimy, wet, bug eyed, and starving.
Denver had 59 brothers and sisters.
Some were twins, some were stillborn some were absolute assholes.
But overall Denver has good memories of them, I'm glad he can remember his childhood like that.

They all sat together in their little fish pods, laying about and talking about how weird their parents actually looked.
Because you see, when you have 59 other versions of yourself slammed into the same place, two full grown betta fish look like fat sparkly magicians.


When I think back to my childhood, the first thing I think about is that it sucks that I don't remember much of it like Denver does. But I don't get too down on it, because there was obviously a reason why I discarded those memories. Reasons like pain, terror, unimportance, or mental disfunctionality.
We all can't have incredible infantile memory power like fish.

So how come I have some memories of these other things though?
I don't remember where I got the scar on my wrist from.
(Some nasty people make judgements.)
Yet I remember when I was in the 4th grade during P.E. class. We were playing kickball and I distinctly remember breaking my nail.
I remember the color of the dirt beneath my feet, how hot it was outside, what the peel of pain felt like on my finger. But where did this tiny scar on my wrist come from? When?

How come I barely remember the high school Christmas dance but I remember when I was young, sitting in the bathtub and discovering that I had a birthmark next to my navel?

Why do I remember the sad breakup I had almost three years ago--something that actually made me feel hurt, but I don't remember the breakup that happened in 9th grade which was meaningless, mutual, and nondramatic?

I push away some pains, circumstances, memories, good or bad, yet I lock on to others.
How dare my brain decide what is worth keeping and what gets thrown into the wood chipper.

I wish I remembered why I wanted to write this.

See you,

A&D

From Colorado to Crusty Pods

Did you know Denver is a Siamese Fighting Fish?
I read that on his fish food.

It's something like this I'm sure.

Did you know how I got the name Denver? I'm not sure myself, it might be because I eventually want to live in Denver. (The city not the fish. But who knows).
Denver is hope and a goal. And now I get to feed it small nutrition flakes with blood worms as the main ingredient.

I picked a name for Denver before I bought him,
I got a home for Denver before I bought him,
I had conversations with Denver before I bought him.

I had already created a bouquet of expectations for him to be greeted with before I even set eyes on those scales. I realize that I do this a lot with many things.

Hunger levels.
Meeting people.
Tolerance of teachers.
Shoe discomfort.
The eventual insight I may gain by speaking to a fish.

This makes me think of occasions where the fiance asks why I never really dated anyone in high school.

 I realized it was because I fell for guys that didn't actually exist.

I projected fake characteristics that I expected they fulfill.
I got disappointed by the actual result, of course.
That's what I get.

But the fiance worked out because he pounced on me before I could make any impossible delusions about him. Like willing to watch Gossip Girl with me. (I got him to do it once.)

I doubt Denver will disappoint me. Even though I made a bunch of expectations of him, I feel like him being just him will be enough.



I like to think my life is like the constant unstableness of a caterpillar lifestyle. There's that mushy fuzzy time where you just eat and grow and be cute but disgusting. Then you grow this moldy icky shell which I think of as the awkward stage in adolescence.
Middle school. Definitely middle school.

While sitting in that crusty pod of my own goop and what I once was I was thinking the whole time, "It's going to be worth it. It's going to be worth it."
Pretty sure that part was high school for me.
I had zits, braces, and a nasty attitude about myself that matched.

I graduated. Am I a Rhopalocera now?

That's the scientific name for a butterfly.
I'm brilliant. And so is google.



See you,

A&D

Discovering Denver

This is about Denver. My new fish companion.
Let me tell you, we hit it right off the bat.
I had spent nearly a half hour at Petco looking for my new adam's ale cohort. Originally I had picked this glossy white betta with creepy black eyes. But then I walked past this sapphire beauty and my heart just stopped. This was the one. I spent $14.99 on the creature.

 I think it's because he's some sort of bigwig paladin or something.

I assume Denver is somewhat happy now, seeing as how when I got him he was originally living in a container no bigger than an empty can of beef ravioli. But who knows, maybe the close proximity was a comfort for him and now he is overwhelmed by all the excess fish bowl not being used. Maybe I'll find Denver a lady friend. I'm actually not sure of bettas or their sexual orientation. I hear they kill eachother a lot.
I like to think that if some sub-aquatic gladiator fish tournament happened my little guy would be vicious.

Perhaps I'll get him a pirate toy or something.
Someone he can talk to like I talk to him. Maybe he is talking to me and I just don't understand him and he doesn't understand me and we're both just sort of comforted by the idea of someone listening.
It's only a glass bowl  between us. A tangible material that can shatter at any moment.
But I just tossed my last can of ravioli so I'd prefer Denver to live here.


I'll keep this first post short. But Denver and I have some great conversations to share if you're willing to listen to the watery stories of an orphaned fish and his fleshy human friend.

See you.

A & D.