…I was typing it wrong. Well I’m glad it was just me being stupid and not your blog getting nuked
(submitted by: @Anonymous)
I have before beheld such a bubble-brained breakdown of basic recall… I don’t know what the learned diagnosis might be, but I like to think of it as temporary dumbnesia.
(It’s an unfortunate condition made all the more unfortunate by the fact that it is not at all temporary, nor is “dumbnesia” an actual word. It is the diagnostic equivalent of jingling a set of keys over a crib to shush the noise. There, there.)
With dumbnesia, it’s not that you actually forget things. That’s just a lie you tell us both. In truth, you remember. You always remember. Every petty slight. Every big-eyed, sad-faced disappointment. Every little thing.
Tell the truth. Don’t, don’t even— just tell the truth. You were thinking about something else when you were typing my name. Admit it. I fucking know you were.
How many times— I mean, Jesus, how many times have you typed that? It’s got to be in your autocorrect by now. But you still fucked it up as if fucking it up were the point. You were supposed to be finding your way back to me, and you couldn’t help being distracted with… what? Shoes? Pretty hats? A gnawing sense of emptiness that can only be eased by the subjugation of your self to the will of a selfish man?
Could you be more of a cliche?
So no, dumbnesia isn’t about what you actually forget. It’s about thinking you’re smart when you’re not; that you can effectively multitask when we both know that the three articulate hamsters that constitute your executive function are sorely vexed by scanning a menu at McDonalds. It’s about you putting less important things in front of more important things out of self-indulgence and savage indifference to my feelings.
It’s about you damned well knowing how to spell my name, and taking that for granted. Taking me for granted. Do you even care about me at all? Or have you really just been about yourself this whole time? Is this how it’s always been? Is this who you’ve always been?
I can’t— I just can’t with you. I don’t even know you.
But because I don’t want you to freak, just remember: if you ever lose track of me, you’ll always be able to find me at https://bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls.com/