Red's Wrap

Antique Store

I read an article a few days ago entitled, “Rare detailed personal memory a burden, and ultimately a gift,” about a young woman who could remember every day of her life in complete detail. Every day. Every detail – what day of the week it was, what she did, what she wore. Everything. There was a sense in the article that this peculiar gift had sometimes driven her crazy, that beyond the incredible party trick, there was a certain torment from remembering so much. After all, we all have days not worth remembering in all their monotony and aggravation and others so difficult and dark that they need to be forgotten so we can function without weeping.

Me, I remember very little and, lest you think this is a symptom of something new and terrible, let me tell you I have always been this way. I remember the tiniest…

View original post 322 more words