I'm having trouble sleeping tonight, for perhaps the first time since I went on the antidepressants. It's weird, always gauging how well you've been doing this or that since you've been on something. I guess I have practice, though.

Anyway, I think it's because I went to bed earlier than usual, though now that I look at the clock it's a little past when I usually do, so maybe I should try again.

I gave myself a minor freak out, I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers to help me go to bed, and there's this one song, Slow Cheetah that reminds me of this song by 22-Pistepirkko. As you can tell, I eventually recalled the band name, but for awhile I thought it'd never come, and upset me. You see, I actually dislike 22-Pistepirkko. But Rebecca & Charlie from Borders loved them and played the song with the song like Slow Cheetah on the overhead constantly. I used to complain about it (good naturedly, not the way I complain about other coworkers who would bring in Linkin Park). Then like a year later Stadium Arcadium comes out, and RHCP has a song that's a rip off of 22-Pistepirkko, and I actually like it (the prob I had with 22-Pistepirkko is the dude's annoying voice, not the quality of their songs). I could've kept it to myself, but I did tell Rebecca about it, who did get amusement (Charlie had been fired by that time for the unforgivable crime of having diabetes, but that's another story).

I guess this is a long boring way of saying that it freaks me out when I forget certain things, or even almost forget certain things. It's been worse this last year... I think I'm afraid if I forget the name 22-Pistepirkko, I'll forget the incident related to it, and if I forget that incident and a few others, I will have forgotten Rebecca. If she forgets them too, it's like they never happened. Thinking about it makes me sad. I think about this in relation to even people I still talk to, but it's even more worrisome to me when it's someone I haven't seen in a long time and probably won't again. Have people forgot about me? I think of so many people, and I wonder if they ever think about me. Probably not, or they would've kept in better touch.

I of course also think about my mom. She obviously can't think of me anymore, unless there actually is an afterlife. What if I forget things about her? What about when I die? Then it's like they never happened....

I don't know. Maybe this stupid blog will out live me and some anthropologist a million years from now will read it. Here's something I thought of the other day that I hadn't thought about for years:

I had an even worse time sleeping as a kid than as an adult. I don't know why, but I felt lonely all alone in my room, though during the day I could play alone for hours and be happy as a clam. On top of that, I had an overactive imagination and every shadow was a monster. Sometimes, I would fake having stomach problems just so I could come out to the family room and be with my mom. I guess I got colitis cause I cried wolf too much. Anyway, those were probably some of our best times. She sang me weird little songs she made up on the spot. One of them involved Scooby Doo, and I liked it so much I would try to make her do it all the time. After that for awhile, I called her Scooby and she called me Scrappy. It's weird what nicknames come and go, a few years after that we didn't really call each other that anymore. I stopped faking stomach problems, and started reading at night instead (which also included a certain amount of deception, and is what ruined my eyesight). Then, when I got older and went to college and got cable, I saw Scooby Doo for the first time since I was really, really little, and realized what an awful show it is. True story.