Here’s what not to do: indulge in euphoric recall–you know–when you look at all your old pictures and think, “look how much fun I was having.”
Facebook is the devil in that respect. I just lost 20 minutes of my life pressing the “over” button as I forlornly passed and observed each picture in detail. Euphoric recall is an expression I heard last week for the first time and had an immediate understanding of. Damn that long-term memory, that stores the good times, and damn my short-term memory, that forgets the bad times.
A picture from the pot ranch popped up while scrolling; it was a beautiful afternoon and the sunlight was captured in time. I can still feel that warm Cali sun hitting my skin. Wearing a tank top, a backwards hat, and shot gunning a PBR, I think, ugh. Those were the days.
The Italy section kills me, too. My two best friends and I reeking havoc in the most unforgettable/ridiculous/blackout way. Pictures of us in Venice, standing in front of a water taxi, smoking cigarettes and drinking Peronis make me want to cry. How I wish I could relive that night.
Then there are pictures of Santa Con, that controversial pub crawl in New York that takes the city by storm each December. Viewing my outfit from back in time makes me laugh; camo pants, war paint, a Christmas hat, and a declaration that I was Santa’s One Woman Army.
I don’t know what the lesser of two pains are: deleting the pictures, or making negative connotations with them.
Maybe the simple answer is going back to Step 1, and reviewing my list of ways in with my life was unmanageable and the displays of powerlessness over drugs and alcohol…
I’ll disclose that list later.