Blogs, Flogs, Files, Forgetting and Remembering

 Blog... What does that mean anyway?  Wlog I'd get.  (Writing Log) - Thog?  (Thought Log) - and the lovely Flog (files logged) - Or I know, Jlog (Journaling log) but what is the B?  I digress.  

 I have files.  I'm old, I admit it, finally.  When I was cautioned to signed up for Medicare, it crashed in on my poor, perpetually 42 years old brain.  What? Medicare?  Me?  But, but. . . I'm not OLD!  Ahem.  I also used to be a redhead.  (We won't go into the 'once a redhead, always a redhead rant. . . today. . . ).  Silver seems to be the new red.  I did (tangent alert) have a cute young thing stop me on the street to tell me I had 'princess hair'.  I'll take it.  

  

Anyway, files.  I have filing cabinets.  Yes, metal ones with drawers, even a lock.  This was my computer.  My organization, my google, my encyclopedia and my memory.  I don't think I've opened one of the drawers in a year at least, some not in a decade.  Still I can't just dump them.  I know whats in there.  I know. Sorta.  

To leave that thought a moment, another tangent if you will.  I promise I'll draw a point eventually.  I was in a car accident years ago.  I was stuck in a verbal loop, for hours.  My sister thought I'd never come out of it, and would forever continue to ask the same four questions, and give the exact responses to the answers.  I seemed lucid and aware, but I do not remember that or hours previous to it.  I was there, but I was not cognoscente.  Eventually, I did come out of it.  I distinctly remember the last couple of loops.  I remember hearing myself ask the questions, receive the answers, then parrot the responses.  I had no power to change my answers, or to stop from asking what I could then finally discern as repetitive inquiry.  

As I said, I did break the pattern, and become well again.  In the process, I asked why that had been happening.  My nurse told me that the brain is sort of like a filing room, with cabinets and folders and dividers and files.  In the accident, it was like a tornado hit the room, and everything went flying.  Somethings I'd never get back (truth), some would be jumbled, (again true) and some pretty difficult to pull up again (also accurate.)  However, most things would be refiled correctly, and I pretty much would function as if it had never occurred on most levels.  (I was lucky).  

The point?  My file clerk as been through a lot.  

She is older, wiser, and slower. 

It now takes me a beat or two before the word I want comes forward for use.  (Sometimes much longer!)  Somethings I'll never get back, and some just need a little more time for retrieval.  

While I doubt that I'll ever truly get all those cabinets organized and useful (the metal ones) I think that the MENTAL ones are the most important.  They are what reminds me, inspires me, cautions me, enriches me and assists me to be well, me.  

I've realized, I can do anything, but not everything.  Not anymore, and it is ok.  

 

M