memory for me is not like it is for others. and others remember things wrong all the time. you can’t tell them no. i don’t try to correct their memory. but it is a little depressing, especially if their memory involves false witness.
i do what i call “notes” … if i think i might need to recall something that has impact or meaning, i remember it differently. less detail, but more readily available to parse with information acquired in the future.
i never worked to remember names like every other person did. finally by junior high, i realized i was going to have to create a type of memory with the names of car models… just for the sake of conversation. i still wonder if that was a right decision, i think it inserted an instability for naming in general….
eh…… i always saw it as there is finite memory, and infinite memory. so i keep a finite spot for phone number, social security, address, etc. a new phone comes along, i sock it in. but the old one has to go. have california drivers license memorized. but keep it like ss#, cannot replace it with utah.
i don’t keep a huge space for short term memorization. can insert 4 numeric quantities and keep indefinitely. probably a side effect from recalling year dates. now used for pin’s, of course. smells i have disregarded, unless it is combined with a “note” ….
some books i memorize. some i just go in one end and out the other. depends if the information is necessary or if the author is intelligent. these days i do not continue reading a book if the author is not intelligent. if they are very intelligent, i also do not finish reading, and save the words for a rainy day. hoard them, like gold.
sorry i go on…. i am experiencing large degrees of pain these days. somewhat in delirium.
my sister doesn’t remember anything from before our parents died. i remember it so clearly can hear my dad sing. can touch the carpet. can see the sky and taste the figs from our tree… it really is a blessing, i suppose. others have to be told what they remember. i choose my own memories to bring to the surface, because it’s all there. i never assumed that my finite memory was infinite. some people memorize entire speeches, use them like form letters. and half the time they don’t even know what they are saying. only know when the response might be appropriate. it’s why so many don’t actually answer questions. that type of mind will be empty when it ages? well i don’t know why they decided that path.
i, on the other hand, never set aside space for memorized speeches. instead, allotted that place in the brain to active thought. i tried it, of course. memorizing what to say in this or that situation. left things more confusing. the higher rate of nervousness, the less able to use their index for which memorized speech. so the ones that rattle off and appear cool and collected, have better control of their index. some do it by paragraph.
and that’s why i don’t have to listen to everything they say, if i already have heard the argument they are regurgitating. of course, it’s not good to assume that. but hard not to.
but the degree of memorized bullsh+t… this is the difference between fast talkers and slow talkers. and fast talkers will rattle things off regardless of the reception. they don’t parse the comprehension of their audience and make adjustments? something like that. if the comprehension level is incredibly low, i sit and listen. or i kind of give up. turn the direction into a joke. i like laughter, it is it’s own language.
can be a bad habit, the goal of attempting to make people laugh, instead. even though there seems no other choice, since real communication is not possible. many don’t know how to adapt gears quickly enough, can’t follow unless it is these mundane, shallow steps. little creative energy? i don’t know.
have never been able to figure it out. why i am so totally, utterly, and completely socially awkward. i placed that lower in importance, the value of what others think of you. or i placed it so high, that guaranteed paths of appearance over communication, seemed more suitable.
i love memories, they are a refuge. a fortress for ruling reality. a way to be where you are, and where you are not. a coating of experience that determines action.
i suppose it is the day dreamer. memories that are just as real, and only counted as “then” because of the differences from now. when people like me get old, we talk about the past and wander and ramble incoherently.
every human being needs to determine for themselves, what is fact and what is theory. i have very little fact and almost all theory. therefore my world is very large, and very wonderful. because i can create more theories and more… i reshuffle my notes, and strive for the next memory-to-be.
and then that becomes part of the whole. the center of being and self awareness and self determination. factor that in. reshuffle the notes.
i know how not to sound like a pompous a-hole. know how to be liked and receive that kindness from others that means they perceive you as similar to themselves. after all, that’s what kindness means… of like kind.
well… memories are something i use to build reality away from what everyone else says it is. you can believe changes are for the good, or for the bad. aging, for instance. you can see it as degeneration, or as getting to know better how your body works with every passing day.
i don’t know what kind of memory i have. was never interested in finding out what others call it. what i call it, is mine. i speak and go on when figuring out a puzzle, because forming theories. ones that work for me. i learn theories from others. but i don’t automatically add them as fact. i test them. if testing is not possible, i put it in theory and gather data. look at it periodically, to see how things stand up.
this is what i call an abstract write. there are very little tangible elements. this is how i can talk with those of intelligence. long conversations, completely in the abstract.
otherwise it’s like playing tennis against a wall. the memory then involves a blank face, and misunderstanding that leads to condemnation. remember the scene in My Fair Lady where she practices small talk? i bust out laughing at that every single time.
my memory is vivid from before my parents died. because i refreshed the notes, and made space for entire years as a whole. i could not afford to lose those memories. their lost lives are greater than my continuing one. things i did forget, i used self hypnosis to elicit a recall. but there is no way whatsoever to establish a memory realistically that way, as an actuality. has to go under a possibility.
so i like to have conversations in the abstract. the rain in spain stays mainly in the plain…. but i suppose it is also the best of all possible worlds. abstract communication takes a large degree of energy.
it’s also what people laugh at, when stoners get together and converse while being amazed at their own thoughts. well, i “trip” when i am in pain.
am still trying to figure out why mornings are so incredibly miserable…. but sometimes at night, the pain just lifts. no reason at all. i am free.
so i’m trying to figure that out. every once in awhile, the morning is free of pain. it is a reminder of when i was young, and the heaven of sleeping in on a saturday.
so that’s better than nothing. oh well… at some point i hope the pain itself is just a memory.
i tried to go to the doctor, long time ago, btw. i’m on a blacklist. he just f+cked with me and left me for dead. i won’t try again. sick stuff, what they call medical “tests” these days. good lord, DEFINITELY something i don’t want to remember.