Bye Bye Joe and Kamala (I Wish)

My mother died 39 years ago today. That bit of information helps nobody, not even me. It's just stuck in my brain, along with many other useless memories that occupy brain space and keep me from remembering what I had for dinner last night. My point is, wouldn't it be nice if we could just eliminate those memories that serve us no damn good, and in some cases actually cause ongoing sadness? Here are some of mine I would like to eradicate:

 The DC Sniper: For three weeks in October 2002, the city of Washington and its surrounding suburbs were terrorized by two crazy individuals driving around and shooting (and killing) people at random, as if all of life were their private video game. High-schoolers at the time, my son and his friends enjoyed tempting fate by going out into the city to "hang out" or get a pizza. Naturally this caused me, huddled under my bed at home, much angst. Actually, as I recall it was friggin' nightmare. If I could erase that memory I might be less wary of everything, and possibly ten pounds lighter.

John Travolta, once upon a time.

My date with John Travolta. I was in my 30's and single and he was my idol at the time. Through connections, I was designated his escort for an entire weekend of festivities surrounding The Kennedy Center Honors, for which he was one of the presenters. But he turned out to be a boring and insecure narcissist. (How many times did he ask me if his hair looked alright? About a billion.)

The time I left my date in Madison Square Garden after the Janis Joplin concert ended. It was 1969. I was a hippies. I told my date I was going to the ladies' room and would meet him out front but instead I just got on the subway and went home. I couldn't stand the guy and only went out with him because he had tickets to the concert, which by the way was a million miles beyond fabulous, so I would keep that part of the memory.  (Wrote one critic: "Late in the show, Janis performs "Bo Diddley" with her fellow Texan and guest star, guitar whiz Johnny Winter. The song becomes an extended jam when Paul Butterfield joins them onstage. The response of the audience is ecstatic.")

The time I coaxed my adorable dog Rufus to, "C'mon, get in the car, we're going for a ride!" Then we went to the vet, who put him down.

My father's dying of colon cancer. It took three months, coincidentally the exact dates of the first trimester of my pregnancy. 

Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. Somehow that tiresome twosome finagled their way into power. Not sure how they did it since neither one ever was a crowd-pleaser, with Kamala dropping out of the primary race early because she couldn't raise any money and Joe losing any time he tried running for president in the past when he wasn't even 78 and demented. 

2020. Obviously.

All that freed-up brain space might allow me to learn the rules of football, understand how to do my taxes and stop paying my accountant an arm and a leg to do them, and read maps.