So one time I broke the hammock at my friend's beach house, which caused a bloody laceration to my friend's right knee. And she was wearing my white knit shorts, with the drawstring - that of course didn't match. Those were ruined. She took off running into the darkness, calling for some kind of comfort or reassurance that she wasn't going to die. I was left there to sulk in my shame. So there I sat on the ground, wrapped in a broken hammock with scrapes on my face and my forearms; being eaten alive. The Mosque's reign. I still remember the sour look on my friend's face, in which I was to blame for her misfortune. Of course.

I often sit, think, and force my braincells to rewind back to certain events in my life. But it seems as I grow older, it's as if these certain events or memories, never existed at all. A if I was engulfed by a wave of mind boggling, mind numbing mind-fog.

Grow up, thinking back on long forgotten memories? Like hell.