A More Modern Memento: Going HAM Online With Short Term Memory Loss!

June 5, 2018 by , featured in Spiritual Wellness
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What site is this? The blue header … It looks like Facebook. Wait … Doesn’t Twitter sometimes have a blue header? My God, what if I’ve taken a left turn and stumbled into Tumblr territory?

My name is Ken Hanley, and I suffer from short-term memory loss as a result of a vicious assault by the man who murdered my wife. Twenty years ago, dealing with this situation would have been nearly impossible. I’d be naïve, violent, easily manipulated, and doomed to repeat my own mistakes, like the human version of Los Angeles. But thanks to the convenience and simplicity of the digital world, amnesia is no longer a social death sentence.

Wait, where am I now? I look in my Notes app: “Fact #9: The Blue Bird is Twitter.” I look at my tweets … What do they mean? What is a humblebrag, or a #bestlife? Why the fuck is anyone writing any of this bullshit?

I see I’ve been arguing with someone named @DVDBoxSet about The Bye Bye Man. Who cares this much about The Bye Bye Man?  I flip over to my Letterboxd; it seems I watched it last Tuesday… and two weeks ago… and five weeks ago… How many times have I watched The Bye Bye Man? How many more times will I watch the Bye Bye Man?

Note to self: Don’t watch The Bye Bye Man anymore. Also, find the DVD Box Man.

I look at my Instagram for clues for whoever killed my wife, just in case her murderer is a total thirst trap. I see myself with my gross friend Elijah at a diner, and we’re all smiles. Wait … What’s that on my plate? It looks like bacon, but the previous photo is a selfie captioned “Fact #5: You’re a vegan.” But the selfie immediately after reads “Fact #6: Fuck Fact #5, bacon rules.”

Wait, what’s this app? Step-tracking? Where did I go with all these steps? I bring up Foursquare. Where did I check in? I hope I didn’t check into where my wife’s killer was. Telling him where I’m at all the time is counterproductive to vigilante justice.

Speaking of this killer, I re-examine my Snapchats. It’s one of the least useful apps for short-term memory loss, so I always print them all out. The pictures make some of the memories flood back, almost like a reflex: #RememberEZPassBill,  #RememberNoWorkOnMemorialDay, #AlwaysWearPants, etc.

Alas, surprisingly little about my wife’s murder. I mean, my wife was murdered, right? I’m like 99% sure she was murdered.

I open up my Facebook app, and I rush to find my relationship status. “It’s complicated.” Well, murder usually is a little complicated.

A notification pops up. A new message from Cindy on OKCupid? When did I get an OKCupid account? I bet my wife’s murderer uploaded it to my phone. That FUCKER.

Alexa, is my wife dead? “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to your question.” I’m starting to believe Alexa doesn’t want me to find my wife’s killer.

I open my Google Chrome, and click on the history. Wait, why was my last visited site porn? When did I have the time to watch porn?

HOLD ON, WHERE DID I WATCH PORN? FOURSQUARE SAID I WAS OUT ALL DAY. ALL THE EVIDENCE POINTS TO ME WATCHING PORN ON MY PHONE IN PUBLIC?

Goddammit. Alexa is hiding my wife’s killer. Chrome is telling me I’m a creep pervert. Facebook is gaslighting me about my marital status. This has conspiracy written all over it.

My apps want me to believe I’m a lonely man who likes bacon and watching porn in public. They clearly killed my wife and then gave me a degenerative brain condition to cover their tracks. Oh, they didn’t think I’d figure it out, but now, I’m going to reveal…

Wait, where am I now? How did I get to YouTube? Wait, I’m subscribed to YouTube Red? Did I subscribe to YouTube TV, too? What the hell is YouTube Music?! AND WHERE DID ALL OF MY VINES GO?!

Note to self: Avenge my maybe-dead wife. Then, avenge Vine.


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