Or, more probably, I may benefit from jotting down bits from my experiences . . . so that I have a chance to remember some of what's happened later on. Somewhere along my path, I short-circuited my memory capabilities. It must've been a defensive move. Too much emotional intensity seemed to accompany memories. To get along with the moment at hand seems easier when my mind's not whipping my psyche over all that's passed.
I've used poetry as my blog of choice. Some people keep journals . . . some people keep memories. I write poems. Many are Proustian tea cookies. When I read them again, I can sometimes conjure the places, the emotions, even a few specific details that accompanied their composition. I suspect that poems will continue to be my genre of choice to compensate for an impaired memory, but blogging may be a useful avenue, too. We'll see.
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