Double feature today! i just wrote something over on Heating a Home on a Hot Plate. but in writing that, of course my brain was a jumble of thoughts. A jumble of words i struggled to remember. Words i was certain were important enough to remember.
The brain is a funny thing. - Maybe curious is a better word? Maybe undefined is an even better word to describe what i'm thinking.
Remembering. Let me work backwards - in prep for my acquistion of the time machine... ha! - I saw a meme this week reading something about the write may not remember who you are, how you met, or even your name; but she'll remember the color of your shoelaces and the smell on your breath when you guffawed at an inappropriate joke, although the punchline too, escapes her memory.
Yesterday i was asked about some difficult experiences that make me the person i am. I described them in as much detail i thought the recipiant needed to get the picture but curbed the detail to lessen the discomfort one hearing of such atrocities would feel. I saw every detail of the moments. I can smell things in the memory and i can taste - the bitter taste - figurative and literal.
Two weeks ago i was asked if i remembered someone in the periphery of my childhood. I remember. Vague recollections of smiles and voices.
Nightmares. Dreams are a means of filing memories. Stuffing them deep into sleep with the freedom to cope without physical limits. And yet, the details of some very bad stuff remain the same. I'm never the victor. I never come out on top. Nightmares of real things that happened in my life. Things that were just awful.
Maybe this belongs over on my heating page... but i'm struggling with this through words. This is definitley a wriritng thing. The good memories are bullied by the travesties of our past. In my case, it's exhausting. I don't want any more bad memories, but it seems like i can't stop them from becoming a part of me. So i consider why?
Character. The shit - the waste - the stuff no one wants - it's necessary. i'm not a hundred percent sure why, but these are the things that make good character. Not just in writing, but in life.
My post today on the hot plate was focused on a mindfulness. And i want to move forward with a mindfulness of memories. I want to start relieving the file drawers in my brain of the stuff that should have been discarded a long time ago to make room for all the smiles and aromas in the periphery i should be drawing in more.
I need my memory to be better. I need my brain to be better. I need to be better. Today i'm going to do my best to remember something that is not going to make me sad later when i think of it.
The brain is a funny thing. - Maybe curious is a better word? Maybe undefined is an even better word to describe what i'm thinking.
Remembering. Let me work backwards - in prep for my acquistion of the time machine... ha! - I saw a meme this week reading something about the write may not remember who you are, how you met, or even your name; but she'll remember the color of your shoelaces and the smell on your breath when you guffawed at an inappropriate joke, although the punchline too, escapes her memory.
Yesterday i was asked about some difficult experiences that make me the person i am. I described them in as much detail i thought the recipiant needed to get the picture but curbed the detail to lessen the discomfort one hearing of such atrocities would feel. I saw every detail of the moments. I can smell things in the memory and i can taste - the bitter taste - figurative and literal.
Two weeks ago i was asked if i remembered someone in the periphery of my childhood. I remember. Vague recollections of smiles and voices.
Nightmares. Dreams are a means of filing memories. Stuffing them deep into sleep with the freedom to cope without physical limits. And yet, the details of some very bad stuff remain the same. I'm never the victor. I never come out on top. Nightmares of real things that happened in my life. Things that were just awful.
Maybe this belongs over on my heating page... but i'm struggling with this through words. This is definitley a wriritng thing. The good memories are bullied by the travesties of our past. In my case, it's exhausting. I don't want any more bad memories, but it seems like i can't stop them from becoming a part of me. So i consider why?
Character. The shit - the waste - the stuff no one wants - it's necessary. i'm not a hundred percent sure why, but these are the things that make good character. Not just in writing, but in life.
My post today on the hot plate was focused on a mindfulness. And i want to move forward with a mindfulness of memories. I want to start relieving the file drawers in my brain of the stuff that should have been discarded a long time ago to make room for all the smiles and aromas in the periphery i should be drawing in more.
I need my memory to be better. I need my brain to be better. I need to be better. Today i'm going to do my best to remember something that is not going to make me sad later when i think of it.
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