Memory is a complicated thing

Lately I’ve become fascinated by ‘memory’ and how it seems to work…. or not work in my case. I’ve been reading some interesting books and magazine articles where the memories of the authors are so rich in detail that I actually question my own memories, or the authors’ truthfulness. Why is it, for instance, that I can’t remember what my favourite shirt was when I was six years old, and these writers can? Or better still, why is it that they remember every gory detail about their treatments (yes, I’ve been reading cancer stuff, again) and I don’t? My memory … Continue reading Memory is a complicated thing