December 4th, my mom and I had gone downtown to the Main library. I borrowed a John Grisham book. That night, in the house we'd been living in for less than a month, I picked out a melon-colored teeshirt and plaid pullover hoodie to wear on Monday.
But for all those details I remember about December 4th, I don't recall a thing about the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. I collected details afterward. My backpack, weighted down with textbooks, dented the front of the police car that hit me. That melon shirt and plaid hoodie were cut off of me in the ambulance.
Anyway, today's another fifth of December. I woke up at 1am and was unable to fall back asleep. I think about those things I don't remember more than the things I do remember. This date doesn't pass quietly for me.
I'm looking forward to sleeping tonight; maybe I'll write a bit more, grade some papers, clean.
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