I was prompted to write this post after reading an entry called Terminal Flakiness on Essa Alroc’s blog. It made me think about my crazy brain’s habits and workings. Come, let me take you on a wild journey of what it’s like to live inside my brain.
My memory is not like a sieve. Stuff is in there, I absorb the things I learn. It’s more like… the depths of the ocean. Think the Mariana Trench. Challenger Deep. It’s full of amazing things, countless weird wonders and brimming with crazy life, but you need a good strong light, and still, you can only see what’s floating right in front of that beam of illumination. The rest is murky and dark…
Obviously not really. But kinda.
For me, stuff takes time to really get into my brain. It goes in and disappears into the depths. Then there’s a process of my brain working over everything before I can make sense of it. Out of nowhere, conclusions float up and I can grab onto them if they are close enough.
It’s an interesting way to exist. But worse than my methods of information absorption are my issues with memory. I’ve got what I like to call ‘Goldfish memory’. Oftentimes I will think of something I need to do, stand up and walk into another room to complete this task. But when I get there, I’m struck dumb. Why am I here? What am I doing? I’m sure it’s a common thing, but it’s regularity is somewhat disturbing. And I will never remember what it is I was supposed to be doing. I have to reassure myself with the notion that it could not have been THAT important if I never recall it again… I hope.
I’ve also got a thing with names. And faces. And remembering that I’ve met and interacted with people at all. This is especially apparent when I see people out of context. For instance, there’s this guy at my gym who I’ve seen a million times. We’ve chatted and sparred and all that. Then, the other day I saw him on the train and when he said hello, my blank look must have been so blatantly obvious that he actually said, ‘You have no idea who I am, do you?”
I just shook my head and I’m sure he was terribly offended.
Anniversaries, special dates, birthdays. I forget them all. When I called my grandmother a day late for her birthday last year she just laughed. “Molly, I’ve known you for thirty years. The only person’s birthday you remember is your own.” (It’s official – I’m a terrible person.)
Somehow, despite having the memory of a pampered Fantail happily bubbling about in a tank, I’ve managed to muddle through life and come out as some kind of reasonably responsible and somewhat successful adult. I have no idea how, but I must be doing something right. I just can’t remember what it is.
Huh? Wha? Where am I? What’s going on?
(ETA: The best part of this is I just remembered I wrote a very similar post to this several months ago! Goldfish memory strikes again!)