I’m visiting my family and was in the basement, looking for my stuff when I saw…a table stand? A coffee table? It’s the darndest thing–I know this item of furniture, have distinct memories of polishing/dusting it, but for the life of me I can’t remember WHAT it was used for…maybe it was a TV stand? I don’t know…
It’s a bit like the writing some days. I come across notes with half-written sentences, sometimes it’s just a word, and I can’t remember what it’s for…
Writing notes to yourself, I think, is a bit like time travel. You put the words down and hope your future self will remember the thoughts of your past self…
It works if I’m coherent, but I’ve got a sheaf of papers that could be written in ancient Egyptian for all the sense it makes and worse yet, I’ve desperately been looking for notes I made on my current manuscript and I can’t find it…
I wish my past me would come back and show my present me where the heck I put them…