That's why I was too distracted to remember graduation. If it weren't for the few pictures that were taken, I might not be sure that I was there. I hardly remember going to the prom, but I know that happened, too. Yet, if I hadn't gone to the prom or graduation, I would be regretting it now, sure that I'd missed something very exciting. (Jealousy is all the fun you think they had, as Erica Jong wrote in Fear of Flying.) I did miss my class trip because I overslept, but looking back, that might have been a Freudian nap, because I don't feel any pangs about missing an amusement park trip, none whatsoever.
Getting back to what happened thirty years ago, though, what did they say to us at graduation? Surely, we were given advice or some sort. Who spoke? I haven't a clue, and I probably didn't know the next morning, either.
Thirty years. If I didn't know that, if I just woke up one morning with all my vague memories, but had no concept of what year it was, how old would I take myself to be? Ah, middle age is so cruel. See, I get up in the morning feeling either fine or pretty good. As far as I know, there are no worrisome health issues plaguing my body. Yet. But at some point, I will stroll into the bathroom and see myself in the mirror and then any delusions are over. Reality will return, this isn't a dream, it really is no longer 1985 and that really is my face, my body, my hair. Sometimes, I catch sight of my eyes in the rear view mirror as I'm driving and think, those are my eyes? Really? Shit. I keep forgetting. I don't feel like 47 going on 48, especially not mentally. Surely, no one believes that I ever became a real adult, because let me tell you, I did not. I still see myself as immature and insecure, and I'm certainly distractible and scatterbrained. (And my voice never ever sounds like waawawaa, like Charlie Brown's teachers.)
What have I done with the last thirty years? Oh, this and that.
I still have this daydream of being a lighthouse keeper in some beautiful place.