I have never enjoyed a prodigious memory. My memory, by way of comparison, is the equivalent of a tire with a slow leak.
Having
now reached what I shall describe (generously) as my mature years, my memory
has collected into one big heap from which I now retrieve random snippets that
lack clear “time and date marks.” Whether
a memory is from five or twenty-five years ago is largely indistinguishable for
me. Nearly everything I recall with any
clarity “feels” as if it happened just yesterday.
Weirdly
enough, I don’t necessarily see the lack of time slots for my remembrances as a
curse. Sometimes, I feel a particular
warmth in recalling my more pleasurable experiences as all happening just
yesterday.
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