Today I wrote myself a note. When I stumbled across it just a few hours later, I'd forgotten it so totally that it was as if an alien had written it. What note was this? What was it about? What was that word--potato? Why was I writing a note about a potato?
minute or so, I not only deciphered it but remembered the context, and
had a good laugh. The word I misread as "potato" was "portable," and the
note was about an email I had wanted to send someone. I had sent the
email, and so my brain apparently decided not to waste any more energy
on the note.
When I look over old journal entries, they bring to
mind things I would otherwise forget. Writing is, among other things, a
way of remembering. We change, we forget, and so much is fleeting. So I
pin a moment in place with words, capture a memory, and then I have it
for good. As long as I don't make my words too cryptic, or too