Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Towel

I am usually pretty good at remembering what is mine and what isn't. I can remember where it came from, or who gave it to me. And I generally can remember how much I paid for it, if I bought it myself. I am really weird about using my own stuff (vs using the communal stuff reserved for visitors), so at our house we tend to have overstock on a bunch of miscellaneous personal things like towels and pillow cases etc.

Last night, Husband prepared a hot shower for me - he's the sweetest, hey? and had set out a dark brown towel for me to dry off with. No big deal at all, but I was slightly confused cause I tend to use a giant grey towel. When I asked him about why he chose brown over grey he said that the brown towel is also mine. I stared at the towel. It looked so foreign to me. So unfamiliar and so strange. It wasn't a 'oh, I just forgot we had this towel' kind of forget. It was a full on 'I have genuinely never seen this towel in my life - how and where did this come from and you say I have used said towel before? Ridiculous!'. I still don't recall where this towel was acquired. After thinking about it all night, I can vaguely recollect using the towel in our old apartment, however, I can't tell if those memories are contrived or true.

But it's just a fucking towel. It's not the end of the world.

I just can't seem to shake the uneasiness that comes along with not knowing my own reality.

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