(no subject)

How strange my life seems to me sometimes. I find it so hard to remember the feeling of my previous forms of existence; it is as though they were films I saw or books I read; as though they happened to a close friend. My life with former partners seems strangely remote; I cannot somehow imagine being back in those situations. My life as an undergraduate, before I really had any long-term partners, seems still odder - so chaotic socially, and yet regimented by academic requirements. And then my life at my parents' house, before that, definitely is very remote - endless evenings and weekends of strange solitude with a guitar or a piece of paper. As for the life before I was 15, before that particular moment in France - that must have happened to a different person; I cannot, do not want to remember it at all.
Others seem to tell me how important their past lives are to them - they keep mementos, in their desk drawers or in their heads, to remind them of what was once significant. It is always hard for me to understand this attachment to the past that seems to threaten descent into a labyrinth of regret or yearning: what I did wrong; what I could have done instead.
I also find attachments to the future hard to understand; I am not an ambitious person, and am uninterested in reproduction. I like a line of Jeanette Winterson's: something like "I don't want a reproduction; I want to make something completely new." But then, she always did like her puns. Perhaps I am just fixated on the present moment; everything else seems almost too vague to believe in.