Personal Literature (NaBloPoMo: Mnemonics)

Prompt: Aldous Huxley said your memories are your personal literature. What story are you telling yourself today?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Zero.

Zilch.

Nada.

Isn’t it sad?

—–

I don’t have anything noteworthy to include here. My personal literature, if you read it, is a boring historical record from birth to current existence. It is a mere existence. I have no great tragedy. I don’t have a crippling disease, nor does any of my family (*knock on wood*). I’ve never had my heart filled with so much emotion that it hurt. I’ve never had my heart broken. I’ve never gone bungee jumping (I’ve gone ziplining, but I doubt that’s more exciting).

By Hollywood blockbuster standards, my life is a dud.

And I’m okay with it. I don’t live in Hollywood anyway. 🙂

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