Maybe it will rain

My head is throbbing and my ears feel clogged.
This had better not lead to a migraine.

I feel as though bits of me are fading. Parts of my memory come and go, things I knew months ago disappearing and vaguely reappearing at odd times when I am not actually trying to remember. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Sometimes when I think my memory of an event is faulty, part of me surges up to insist that no, my memory is correct. Then the two parts battle briefly, and I am not sure which one wins until much later when I actually completely remember.
Part of me is terrified that my neurology is trying to slowly destroy me.

Memory can indeed be faulty. At least questionable. (Like my debate with Adam over who sang the song "I'm On Fire." Adam said it was either Bruce Springsteen or Billy Joel. I was insistent and adamant that it was neither. Yet it was Bruce Springsteen. My mind had not wanted to think about Bruce Springsteen singing "I'm On Fire," as I had assumed it was too sexual for Springsteen. But hah, shows what I know.) The mind plays games.

I want my sharp memory back. Time to increase the bacopa.

Maybe it will rain

My head is throbbing and my ears feel clogged.
This had better not lead to a migraine.

I feel as though bits of me are fading. Parts of my memory come and go, things I knew months ago disappearing and vaguely reappearing at odd times when I am not actually trying to remember. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Sometimes when I think my memory of an event is faulty, part of me surges up to insist that no, my memory is correct. Then the two parts battle briefly, and I am not sure which one wins until much later when I actually completely remember.
Part of me is terrified that my neurology is trying to slowly destroy me.

Memory can indeed be faulty. At least questionable. (Like my debate with Adam over who sang the song "I'm On Fire." Adam said it was either Bruce Springsteen or Billy Joel. I was insistent and adamant that it was neither. Yet it was Bruce Springsteen. My mind had not wanted to think about Bruce Springsteen singing "I'm On Fire," as I had assumed it was too sexual for Springsteen. But hah, shows what I know.) The mind plays games.

I want my sharp memory back. Time to increase the bacopa.

Maybe it will rain

My head is throbbing and my ears feel clogged.
This had better not lead to a migraine.

I feel as though bits of me are fading. Parts of my memory come and go, things I knew months ago disappearing and vaguely reappearing at odd times when I am not actually trying to remember. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Sometimes when I think my memory of an event is faulty, part of me surges up to insist that no, my memory is correct. Then the two parts battle briefly, and I am not sure which one wins until much later when I actually completely remember.
Part of me is terrified that my neurology is trying to slowly destroy me.

Memory can indeed be faulty. At least questionable. (Like my debate with Adam over who sang the song "I'm On Fire." Adam said it was either Bruce Springsteen or Billy Joel. I was insistent and adamant that it was neither. Yet it was Bruce Springsteen. My mind had not wanted to think about Bruce Springsteen singing "I'm On Fire," as I had assumed it was too sexual for Springsteen. But hah, shows what I know.) The mind plays games.

I want my sharp memory back. Time to increase the bacopa.