Someone Stole Our Mailbox Once

I remember very clearly the weirdness of the situation. 

It was during the last Orlando Indie Comedy Fest (btw, I miss these very much) and we had a whole mess of comics staying at our house.

For real, I think it was up to 8 additional bodies in the house at one point. 

The way my memory works thanks to aphantasia (and something new I am exploring with my therapist called ‘Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory’ or SDAM, which co-presents in Aphants pretty frequently), I don’t remember “scenes” or “things that happened” unless I talk about them a lot afterwards. 

Or if my brain gets stuck on something that happens and spins on it forever and forever and forever. Then I will never forget it. 

So if you catch me repeating the same story over and over again, let me! Maybe offer up some additional details I might not have caught onto. This will help me hold on to more of my memories with you! And I want the memories!

This is because my brain can hold onto words, thus it can hold onto stories. The other way my brain remembers things is by feeling. I can get my body back to the “feeling” it had at places pretty easy. 

I can put on “Jesus Walks” and be right back in the Rangers stadium, tied up in the 9th. And I remember what it felt like when they won. The energy, not, like, the physical things touching my body. 

But I can’t picture it. I can’t taste the nachos I was eating. Nor can I feel the seats of the stadium, or heck, even my own breath in my mask. I can’t smell the old booze sweat and hot dog water, or, heckagain, even my own breath in my mask. 

But I can feel the electric energy. 

In fact, I have shirts I won’t wear because I didn’t like the way I felt last time I wore them. Like, I will put on the shirt and every time I look down at myself my body is filled with whatever negative emotion I felt last time I wore it. 

I really hate that part of my brain, cause I have one Coors shirt that I truly love, but the last time I wore it I spent some of the worst days of my life and I feel all those emotions rush back whenever I wear it. So I just don’t.

The positive feelings don’t work the same way unfortunately. 

Oh, but the mailbox!

So, we had a house full of people in a variety of vehicles, coming and going and hanging and laughing and, y’all, those were happy times. 

You could tell I really cared about the Orlando Indie Comedy Festival because I skipped the Oscars to attend. 

I KNOW. 

The other memory that stuck with me from the OICF came courtesy of Arish Singh, an amazingly talented comedian who we watched at least three times.

It was the last night of the Fest, final show, and Arish was performing during the Oscar Ceremony, which I, of course, was avoiding spoilers from at all costs, cause I was gonna watch it when I got home.

As a throwaway line in his set, he made a joke about that night’s Best Picture winner, expecting a laugh. 

Instead, he got a gasp as all the Orlando faces turned toward me. They knew. They knew how important it was for me and it was SPOILED. 

Arish’s set was fire, though. Always is. 

We all went home later and watched the Oscars and I literally cried when the Best Picture winner was announced because Arish didn’t really spoil it for me. He had no idea who won either and was just making a dang joke. 

Also there was, like, champagne involved, because, you know… I was a lush back then. 

BUT THE MAILBOX. 

So legit, I dunno what happened to it. I just came home one day and it was knocked over. 

Ok, fine, no big deal, mistakes happen. I’ve knocked over a mailbox before!

Then the next morning, I woke up and it was completely gone. No more mailbox. 

Since we had a bunch of comics staying with us, I’d like to think there was some ridiculous, exciting and funny story involved, but probably not. 

Someone probably needed a new mailbox and there it was laying down all sad, so they took it!

Can you come up with a better story?

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