<archeology><memory>

lately I have been doing a lot of digging through the treasure chest of personal memories. Memory is something I struggle with, it seems that I have manage to learned to repress many of my memories of childhood, and since I have spent so much of my life trying to create that gap, to seperate myself from them, from my family. There are things that I do remember, and there are things that I really just wish I could forget. But one thing I have learned as I throw myself out into the community and start to try to relate to other human being is how many people's self identity is strongly grounded in how they relate to their families. And as I try to explore my own sense of identity, and I have to answer questions about my childhood things get fuzzy. I would like to think that somewhere I have pleasant childhood memories much like everyone else does, they are surely those little gems that are buried under the muck. I was more then content with that seperation for several years, I moved away from home when I was 18, to live with my maternal grandparents. It was the day after my 27th birthday, in February of 2004, that my grandmother passed away, the cancer had spread to fast despite the surgical attempt to remove it. My mother, and 2 of my sisters came to the funeral. This was in the wake of a relationship that was already in decay, me grasping at treads of understanding on many personal levels, and feeling like I was in a fog of confusion about much of it. So this experience of death, and loss happened on many levels, and memories of my childhood resurfaced to haunt me. So, as I take a intermission from dreaming, I will be posting of some of those memories, of family, of home, childhood, and perhaps even some more recent....with the hope of discovering something buried beneath the surface....