And Just Like That, It Was Over

Over, dunzo, no mo’.

I used to have a blog.

Not a Tumblr. I mean a blog-blog with paragraphs of overthinking, reminiscing, and metaphoring about what was going on for six whole years of my life. It saw me through failed jobs, failed relationships, and a few different apartments that weren’t failures so much as sad Manhattan realities. (Ooh, Manhattan Reality Realty — that’s a brokerage I’d like to see.)

I sort of grew up writing this blog. Until I stopped. I was going through all of the shitty things, which wasn’t even an Internet cliche back then. I didn’t want to live it, much less write about it. Sometimes people would email that they missed my writing, but that wasn’t going to resurrect the urge I’d once had to share my daily life. I figured I wouldn’t need any record of what I was going through, because maybe that was just what my life was going to be forever.

Fortunately, I was wrong. A lot of wonderful things have happened since I stopped blogging, and I’ve failed to capture them outside of long-forgotten conversations, subway daydreams, and talking to myself in the shower.

I paid for the blog domain and hosting every year, thinking maybe someday I’d pop in with an update, like one of those end-cards at the completion of a documentary that tells you exactly how many felonies someone was charged with or how recently the amazing person you just learned about died.

But then I forgot about it entirely.

When the memory of my blog came back to me a few weeks ago, like a childhood best friend’s phone number or an old radio jingle, I knew it was too late. My old domain had expired and been taken over by someone else. My hosting hadn’t been paid.

Six years of my life, gone… Into the

When I thought about it too hard, I felt a little queasy. So I thought about it my normal way, which is to get distracted quickly by something more pressing or entertaining. If I timed it just right, I’d kinda-sorta believe maybe this was freeing. I was Kondo-izing my memory! Who needs to look back on my heartbroken blog posts about TBID aka The Boy I’m Dating aka The Boy I Dated aka The Boy I Don’t Remember Much Now?

I was telling my boyfriend Adam about it yesterday and started crying. “I’m trying not to think about it,” I said, thinking about it very much. I’d sort of been hoping the Internet would remember those six years for me.

Some mornings I walk out of my apartment and immediately recall boarding the bus before an elementary school field trip. It’s just the right temperature or humidity or something. By the afternoon, I’m struggling to remember what I ate for dinner the day before.

Or one time I was trying to remember the name of every guy I went out with in the window of time before I met Adam. I couldn’t do it. I started writing details like, “Guy who told me I was cynical for saying I wouldn’t tell my kids about Santa.” (I later recalled his name is Nils. He got nil from me after that whole conversation.)

But nothing on the Internet is gone forever. Nothing you wrote for six years and paid to host, anyway. Adam calmed me down and helped me navigate contacting DreamHost, which is easier than you’d think, despite forgotting all of your passwords ever. Now the site I poured my heart into is a bunch of code waiting for a new domain. Instead of a demolition, it’s an old house on a truck getting moved to the other side of town.

I’ll have to visit again someday.