Mental Filing Cabinet

In my quest to burn a few lekker CD's (you should be getting to know that word by now! :) ), I've had some sort of memory plough turning over a lot of ancient memories.

For instance, I was looking for a song but could only remember the guitar bit for it, until I remembered a single snatch of a phrase - and found it was Gary Moore's "Still got the blues for you". Well, it's now downloaded and playing. And you know what, I can suddenly remember EVERY SINGLE WORD of the song! And it's still a way-cool song. (Sometime soon I'll list all the songs I've managed to find in the past month, when I've got seriously nothing else to blog about)

Makes me wonder what else is nicely filed away in that brain of mine. Songs alone - there must be thousands of the things! Every song I've ever known, or heard often, or sung. From "Grandmother's feather bed" and the Black & White Minstrels to the Chipmunks, praise & worship and hymns, radio rock, classical. Geez, that's a hell of a lot of songs!

Then there's the books I've read, and re-read. The stuff my eyes have absorbed off the internet, or passing road-signs. All those old letters I not only wrote but received. And the blogs - oh the blogs! A wealth of words there alone!

There's pictures. Some I wish I could forget. Like abused kids and beasts, a good few news stories, and (sad to say) one or two pr0n pics glanced at in passing and now ingrained on memory. Others that pop up unbidden at arb times, for no logical reason. Places, people, moments frozen in time, sketches on pages, snapshots of this and that.

Smells. Like the car fumes that made me want to hurl while pregant and still do. Or a certain male cologne that made me want to hurl while pregant, and which still does (and which my boss wears - can't get the smell out my office for hours after one of his fly-by's!). Good smells like baking bread and strong, kind men whose chests I've snuggled against. Rain on dust, fresh-cut grass. Each associated with something or other, filed safely away and hauled out by that mass of "stuff" in my skull, almost on demand.

But there are other things that get seriously misfiled. Like the name of the person you just met, or where you put your keys, or what you saved that important document as. Those are the times that I think my brain has a good laugh, chucking irrelevant information forward, while sitting firmly on the stuff I'm looking for.

Yet still, sometimes I'm just amazed at what's contained in a few kilo's of grey matter.