My ex-wife would pull this crap over important stuff while we were married. She later admitted that she did it because she disagreed with me, but didn’t want to keep arguing. So her apparent solution was to agree with me then pretend the entire conversation never happened and I was being mean to her by pretending that it did and getting upset about it. :rolleyes:
The whole episode always had a lot of deja vu involved, along with (usually) appropriate olfactory and tactile recall. It was not real pleasant. Emotionally it was very draining. And I tended to throw up, then nap after an episode.
An anti-seizure drug resolved it immediately and after a few years, the med was withdrawn, and there have been no recurrences in about 4 decades now. For which I’m grateful.
Kind of like how the phrase “The Village” no longer means a quaint little corner of Manhattan chock full of beatniks, poets, and other quirky liberal-leaning artistic types, but now refers to the teeming masses of conservative voters all across the country. I don’t know when or why that got changed around (99% chance it is off-topic here in any event), but when I first started seeing people using it in the latter way it was deeply puzzling to me, like they assumed you knew it definitely meant the latter and could not possibly be confused with the former, even tho I know Rolling Stone at least, a liberal bastion for many years, would often use it in that way. [You could all fuck with my head now and tell me that’s it’s always referred to the GOP-ites, and what ees thees Greenwich Village that you speek of, mon?]
In any event I’ve split off the marathon dream thing into it’s own thread.
My boyfriend and I once had a fight over a teabag. There was a teabag in the house that I couldn’t explain (neither of us drink tea). He had been away for a month, so obviously the teabag had been brought into the house by me. But I honestly had no memory of the teabag. I must have brought it home from the office, but I couldn’t remember why or when. Apparently my denial struck him as suspicious, because almost a year later he brought it up again. I honestly didn’t know what to say. It was a teabag. What, did he think I was having an affair with a guy who brought his own teabags with him whenever he came over for a shag?
To be fair, at the time my boyfriend was dealing with his father dying, so he wasn’t in a rational state of mind. He acknowledges that this was a ridiculous thing to be suspicious about, and we’ve talked it over and are past it now.
I still don’t know where that teabag came from.
Lucky thing he didn’t find one of these around the house.
Huh? Never heard it mean anything other than the NY neighborhood.
Joe
Must … not … hijack own thread … ranting about … conservative co-option …
I was watching MuchMusic one day and they were premiering this music video. They were making a big deal about how it was the premier, first ever broadcast of this particular video on the network. Except I had seen it before, months earlier. I had to have watched it on Much, it’s the only music network we got at the time. There’s a subtitled interlude in the middle of the video and as it was playing, I was almost reciting along with it because I remembered it so clearly. Wikipedia says the single was reissued after its first release, but that doesn’t explain why MuchMusic was firmly convinced they were showing the video for the first time ever. I assume someone just got confused and assumed it was a brand new single, but I still have my suspicions of time travel.
Freaky. If you have any family photos where your aunt’s face matches your memories instead of her current appearance, there is a simple explanation. Your family killed your aunt, found someone to take over her role, and decided not to tell you about it. Don’t be alarmed but I hear they are interviewing for your replacement now. :eek:
Were you perhaps dating Bertie Wooster?
Ah, wait, I’ve got it. You will date Doctor Who in the future, you lucky gal. Are you River Song?
I’m from Pennsylvania. I remember where I was when I heard that our state treasurer, R. Budd Dwyer, had killed himself during a press conference with TV cameras rolling. I was at college at Pitt. I remember the room I was in, in the Cathedral of Learning, when a friend came in and told me the news. I remember that the next day the Pitt Snooze– erm, Pitt News printed some of the bad-taste jokes that were going around, and got criticized for it. I even knew a guy who was interning at one of the Pittsburgh TV stations, and talked with him about how much of the tape was appropriate to show on the evening news.
Here’s the problem: every source says that Dwyer committed suicide in January of 1987. In January of 1987, I was a senior in high school, in Lancaster. I didn’t go to Pittsburgh until August of that year. I would swear it happened in January 1988. But either I’m wrong or the rest of the world is, and the odds are not in my favor…
flodnak: that’s very strange. So basically, all these specific memories that you have are pretty much impossible; yet you have them. Same here; I remember reading about the implications of having Neptune in Pisces, I remember knowing that I was a triple Pisces (Sun, Jupiter, Neptune), yet Neptune has not been in Pisces for a hundred-some years! (it just entered Pisces again last year.)
I couldn’t remember the name of the dog I had that died two years ago. I remember everything else - I can remember the night she was hit, the 4 kids that hit her searching the field with me to find her, calling my vet and him meeting me in his office, only she died minutes after we got there. I remember her life, her death. I couldn’t remember her name. It is extremely rare that I can’t recall something I know, especially something as important to me as a pet. But it’s like someone took an bottle of Wite-out and blanked her from my brain. It’s very distressing. I ended up having to look up posts on the Dope where I posted about my pets.
StG
Billy? Say Whatup to Montana for me.
Waking up early one morning 3 am in my bedroom and not knowing where I was. I had to crawl on the floor to find the door, and then flick on the light. Then, I was in shock over that is was my bedroom. It was like getting a taste of Alzheimer’s.
Another time I was reminiscing with one of my BILs. I told him the time, my brother and I got into such a violent argument that my BIL was worried that fists would fly…then, he told me he’d never seen the two of us together.
Ouch. :o
Ok, this is a new idiom to me. I take it to mean “I was more than a little shocked” but what’s the origin? I’m a pretty reasonable guy, but you English types say some weird stuff sometimes.
As for the OP, I have psychotic periods lasting several days at a time sometimes that are exactly like you describe. From my perspective, people will not remember saying things to me or will remember saying things that they most definitely did not. Things will not be where I put them, or they will be a different color, or their positions will be reversed. It used to be quite aggravating until I figured out what was going on. I don’t let it bother me anymore because I know my mind is playing tricks on me. And if it really is someone else messing with me, then they’re very good at it and I hope they’re enjoying themselves.
…yeah. I’m a pretty reasonable guy. :smack:
I suspect that’s a Mangetout original, and a reference to this.
As a kid I read white-fang and really enjoyed it. There are a couple of lines in particular that captivated me so much that I learned them by heart.
Years later, thanks to the internet, I thought “hey, let’s read it in English! hey hey even better, let’s see how this very fav excerpt of mine sounds in its original version!”
Try as I might, I wasn’t able to find it.
“Ok, so, let’s pick up white fang in French again to see where is exactly that paragraph.”
I wasn’t able to find it.
I even thought maybe I had picked up a kid edition of it, shorter or something, so I read through another version. Still didn’t find it.
This drove me crazy, because I didn’t think I could have made up, and persuaded me I had memorized them, a handful of lines from a novel.
Then, one day, years later, I found them in English. And what do you know, when I searched again for them in my own French copy, I found them again too.
I’m still baffled by all that.