The other night I was trying to explain my total complete fascination with a little girl named Samantha Smith. My Beau had never heard of her. So trying to explain my total fascination with her when I was a little girl with this other little girl was nearly impossible.
Add to the fact that he has no knowledge of the girl the fact that I have so many memory problems from my seizures and in general the fact that I’m getting old and stupid and it was a grand discussion.
When I tried to explain that I read the papers and watched the television with a rabidness trying to keep up with Samantha Smith and then with Katya Lycheva he gave me such a polite face that I know he was just listening to be a nice beau.
Sometimes I feel like a madwoman when I speak to others. Blathering into the wind about the texture of the wind. Trying to make it all make sense, and of course it doesn’t really. Just because someone is the same age doesn’t mean they will have had the same experiences, doesn’t mean they will remember the same things.
Just because you spent your fervent dork girl time obsessing about Samantha Smith, Katya Lycheva, and later the incredibly syrup sweet movie Amazing Grace and Chuck, does not mean that anyone else did.
Sometimes I forget that just because I know something or have heard of something doesn’t mean that anyone else on the entire freaking planet has ever heard of the same thing. Just because as a little girl I thought and planned and plotted on how I could possibly be one of the members of the grandchild exchange system Samantha Smith had in mind, does not mean anyone else in their right mind ever had the same thought.
I may not be a beautiful and unique snowflake, but I do have my own brand of madness.