A wee reflection on caffeine
I'm typing in funny short moves and just that one tick too fast that makes me constantly hit two letters at a time and probably look slighty away from the sane side for anyone entering the room.
I meant to say a few words about the whole issue for me that seems to be short term memory.
While I got this huge brain full of smells and exact images, like photos and videos, that I can play in my mind with all sorts of stuff from a while ago, my short term memory sucks. If you ever had a chat with me, or worked with me, you tell me what you've just done, 5 minutes later I'll turn around and ask you if you've done that thing you wanted to do already as if you hadn't just told me. That can be quite a problem and sometimes it makes me look pretty stupid, ever so slightly. There's no way making notes would help because it's so random.
Why am I thinking of it, well, last night in between sweeping and mopping, John and I had a few of those situations in which my short term memory just totally left me. John sometimes thinks I'm taking the piss or that I just don't listen to him but that's not true, I really just forget things from a few moments ago very easily. I will remember, however, the shirt you wore two months ago and what perfume and will probably have a full on mental snapshot of you stored away somewhere in zee brainz.
The total opposite of my short term forgetfulness kicked in at some point around 4am in the morning when I was glamourously sorting socks. Go me.
Finding socks that I sort of stole frominherited from my mum kicked loose an avalanche of memories and terrible homesickness. I knew the shop where she bought them, I remembered exact positions of items in that shop last time I was in there myself, really really detailed, actually, you'd be surpised.
Then I thought of my mum's sock drawer that I used to raid all the time when she fell behind with washing when I was a child. I remembered her room and the furniture and the light in the room and how the bed would feel and the smells in the room and what would be on the chest of drawers and that kind of stuff, in full detail.
And it made me sad because none of the furniture exists anymore and the house in which I grew up, it's all gone. You know, the one place where you literally know what's under every rock and not only how it feels to sit on exactly that rock but chances will also be that you know how that rock tastes and how it sounds to prepare grass spinach on it. You know where the big white spider lives and where to get the tastiest white currants, the spot where you tested out if that stoneage type waterproof colour you made really lasts 10k years (it lasted at least 5 years+ and didn't quite delight everyone who saw it), the sound the birch makes when it really windy, how the rose bushes look when you sit right in the very middle of them, the soft brown soil near the train tracks on that spot we were totally not to go and built tree houses, the position of every nail and spade in the white brick shed with the flat roof that we were not to climb onto but did probably every single day, the position of every single ant colony in a radius of a kilometer, when to lift your legs on the bridge to avoid curbs when rollerskating on the pavement... all these little things you never thought you'd ever think about again. I could name a zillion of these things and I'm wondering if my siblings remember any of these little things or if they were too little for that.
And even if they remembered, it might not even be anything that's a cool thing to talk about.
And of all these things, apart from memories, by chance, the only thing that still exists here in New Zealand is this one pair of really old, worn out socks. Weird. Everything else is either in one of my boxes in Germany or burned in the fire that destroyed pretty much everthing my mother owned less than a week after I left home.
Anyways, bla bla. Caffeine makes me go bla. I should set "mood" to bla. Just that the icon is wrong. I'm more like BLA! than erm... blah.
I meant to say a few words about the whole issue for me that seems to be short term memory.
While I got this huge brain full of smells and exact images, like photos and videos, that I can play in my mind with all sorts of stuff from a while ago, my short term memory sucks. If you ever had a chat with me, or worked with me, you tell me what you've just done, 5 minutes later I'll turn around and ask you if you've done that thing you wanted to do already as if you hadn't just told me. That can be quite a problem and sometimes it makes me look pretty stupid, ever so slightly. There's no way making notes would help because it's so random.
Why am I thinking of it, well, last night in between sweeping and mopping, John and I had a few of those situations in which my short term memory just totally left me. John sometimes thinks I'm taking the piss or that I just don't listen to him but that's not true, I really just forget things from a few moments ago very easily. I will remember, however, the shirt you wore two months ago and what perfume and will probably have a full on mental snapshot of you stored away somewhere in zee brainz.
The total opposite of my short term forgetfulness kicked in at some point around 4am in the morning when I was glamourously sorting socks. Go me.
Finding socks that I sort of stole frominherited from my mum kicked loose an avalanche of memories and terrible homesickness. I knew the shop where she bought them, I remembered exact positions of items in that shop last time I was in there myself, really really detailed, actually, you'd be surpised.
Then I thought of my mum's sock drawer that I used to raid all the time when she fell behind with washing when I was a child. I remembered her room and the furniture and the light in the room and how the bed would feel and the smells in the room and what would be on the chest of drawers and that kind of stuff, in full detail.
And it made me sad because none of the furniture exists anymore and the house in which I grew up, it's all gone. You know, the one place where you literally know what's under every rock and not only how it feels to sit on exactly that rock but chances will also be that you know how that rock tastes and how it sounds to prepare grass spinach on it. You know where the big white spider lives and where to get the tastiest white currants, the spot where you tested out if that stoneage type waterproof colour you made really lasts 10k years (it lasted at least 5 years+ and didn't quite delight everyone who saw it), the sound the birch makes when it really windy, how the rose bushes look when you sit right in the very middle of them, the soft brown soil near the train tracks on that spot we were totally not to go and built tree houses, the position of every nail and spade in the white brick shed with the flat roof that we were not to climb onto but did probably every single day, the position of every single ant colony in a radius of a kilometer, when to lift your legs on the bridge to avoid curbs when rollerskating on the pavement... all these little things you never thought you'd ever think about again. I could name a zillion of these things and I'm wondering if my siblings remember any of these little things or if they were too little for that.
And even if they remembered, it might not even be anything that's a cool thing to talk about.
And of all these things, apart from memories, by chance, the only thing that still exists here in New Zealand is this one pair of really old, worn out socks. Weird. Everything else is either in one of my boxes in Germany or burned in the fire that destroyed pretty much everthing my mother owned less than a week after I left home.
Anyways, bla bla. Caffeine makes me go bla. I should set "mood" to bla. Just that the icon is wrong. I'm more like BLA! than erm... blah.