I'm currently reading a book called "Animals in Translation." It's written by a woman who is autistic and claims it gives her insight into how animals see things since her mind also processes her world in pictures rather than words. I'm having a little difficulty wrapping my head around why this is different from the rest of us but I'm only about 40 pages in and may understand better as I read further.
A friend of mine is writing her memoir and I'm reading it as she progresses. Magazine Man (who hasn't posted in a long, long time - working on a book?) tells the most marvelous, detailed stories about growing up. My (younger) brother and (older) sister were reminiscing on my last trip to California about events that happened while we were kids. Even though I was there, I cannot remember these incidents at all. I remember very few specifics and some years are gone completely from my memory. This isn't a new occurrence, I've always been this way, but I've just started to really notice it compared to other people. I know I was so glad to wear a uniform to work because I wouldn't have to remember if I'd worn the same outfit earlier in the week. I rarely can tell you how old I am but have to subtract the year I was born from the current date (although I'm becoming more aware as I age - 60 this year!) Writing about my past? fuggidaboutit!
I'm a little curious why this should be and have come up with a hypothesis. I had quite an adversarial relationship with my mother. Something she did her whole life was refer to where she grew up as "home." Home wasn't where she lived now, but everything in her past was good and wonderful. Anyway, I think I grew tired of glorifying the past and something in my brain switched to only registering the here and now.
Keeping this blog has been fun for me because I'll go back and read about something I did and it's like reliving it all over again. I may be adding more mundane stuff for my own benefit, which is the only reason I blog anyway.