Whenever I have a thought, something I need to think through or work with or understand or remember, I write it down. Once it's solid, I can stop thinking about it. I keep my memory on paper. If I don't write it, I have to keep chewing on the idea in my mind, turning it over and over so I don't lose it.
My paper thoughts lie pressed on pages, caught in notebooks. Flipping through my binder in class, I find notes cramping the bottom margin of a page from last week. One is separated from the rest and underlined.
I can't read it. I must have been thinking too fast, pressing too hard, and it's just a scribble. The first word looks like "I". The second might be "hate" or "acre" or a drawing of something unrecognizable. I struggle blindly to remember what it was. Tracing it over and over again, it makes even less sense now than it did at first. Reluctantly, I give up. Whatever thought I had, whatever I was trying to tell myself to remember is locked in that scribble, and I can never have it back.
No comments:
Post a Comment
say whatever strikes your fancy, but please, respectfully.