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ricevermicelliThe last few days,
My memory is usually not all that good. I have to write things down, and leave myself reminders and it drives everyone I date absolutely batshit. The past few days, I've been coming to the conclusion that it's not so much that my memory is bad, as extremely haphazard. Certain things get written to permanent disk that have no apparant meaning or importance, while certain other things go straight to the gray matter recycle bin.
The past week or so, practically every time I blink, I've been overloaded by detailed memories of fantastically trivial things, like a gray fleece jacket I used to have, or a bunch of plastic storage cubes I used as dorm furniture for a year or so. It's problematic in that these memories leave me wondering what the hell, and digging around for surrounding memories. For example, I gave the gray jacket to a young man who later had a manic episode in the gent's loo of the offices of the only newspaper in Bahrain and subsequently wrote me a long, incoherent letter from the mental institution he was committed to as a result, which, among other things, asked me to burn the letter and never contact him again. I don't want to think about that much, because it's not fun (even though the manic episode, etc., having happened years ago to someone who is not me, is a very funny story). Nearly all of the current set of memories are tied in to my standard late-winter set of California dreams. The problem with California dreams is that the most tempting details are imaginary, and I wake up really upset about not having arranged my life to take advantage of things that don't exist.
Unfortunately, the random eyeblink memory thing doesn't prod me to yank out Cordelia's first aside at the right time. The play goes just fine without it - we all stomp right on through the rest of I.i and then I have about three acts to nap, but I should still know this stuff.
So I'm trying not to blink.
My memory is usually not all that good. I have to write things down, and leave myself reminders and it drives everyone I date absolutely batshit. The past few days, I've been coming to the conclusion that it's not so much that my memory is bad, as extremely haphazard. Certain things get written to permanent disk that have no apparant meaning or importance, while certain other things go straight to the gray matter recycle bin.
The past week or so, practically every time I blink, I've been overloaded by detailed memories of fantastically trivial things, like a gray fleece jacket I used to have, or a bunch of plastic storage cubes I used as dorm furniture for a year or so. It's problematic in that these memories leave me wondering what the hell, and digging around for surrounding memories. For example, I gave the gray jacket to a young man who later had a manic episode in the gent's loo of the offices of the only newspaper in Bahrain and subsequently wrote me a long, incoherent letter from the mental institution he was committed to as a result, which, among other things, asked me to burn the letter and never contact him again. I don't want to think about that much, because it's not fun (even though the manic episode, etc., having happened years ago to someone who is not me, is a very funny story). Nearly all of the current set of memories are tied in to my standard late-winter set of California dreams. The problem with California dreams is that the most tempting details are imaginary, and I wake up really upset about not having arranged my life to take advantage of things that don't exist.
Unfortunately, the random eyeblink memory thing doesn't prod me to yank out Cordelia's first aside at the right time. The play goes just fine without it - we all stomp right on through the rest of I.i and then I have about three acts to nap, but I should still know this stuff.
So I'm trying not to blink.
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On the plus side, ...
Date: 2004-03-08 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 10:13 pm (UTC)