I have what some might call a steel trap memory. Conversations from three years ago? Check. The smell of the exact street taco I had during a 2010 trip to San Antonio? Double check. The emotional cadence of a hallway conversation in a hospital wing I visited once? Locked in.
But lately, my memory bank feels like it’s charging an overdraft fee.
The truth is, I’m filing too much in the vault of my brain. Little witty thoughts, big sweeping epiphanies, half-formed theories about why Thursdays are secretly emotional saboteurs—and then it hits me: write it down, Mimi. Write. It. Down.
I have a fabulous collection of notepads. No, seriously, it’s a mini museum. Spiral-bound, leather-bound, glitter-spined. Some with inspirational quotes, others with existentially confused llamas on the cover. And yet, they mostly sit waiting for me to treat them as sacred memory capsules.
So here’s the thing: maybe we all need to start jotting it down. Our flashes of brilliance. Our odd observations. Our layered little moments. Because while our minds are miraculous, they’re also overwhelmed. And we’ve got things to say about the world, about ourselves, about the weirdness of Tuesdays.
Call it legacy. Call it a living time capsule. Call it your future digital thought journal to be found in 2125 and misinterpreted by a robot historian.
Just don’t call it forgotten. Not anymore.
Note to self: this is your reminder. Write it down, Mimi. Before it floats away like so many good ideas whispered in the wind.
Categories: identity, mental health, Psychology, society, writing
psychologistmimi 
I have to write it down, not only because I might forget, but also because there is the urge to write it down. Weird?
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Still Remembering the Phone Numbers of Childhood
FRiEnDS Numbers Seem Easy to Remember for me at
Least Without a Digital Contact List Yet True Dear Miriam
Creativity Is Different
Creativity is an Always
Changing Snowflake
Falling From Deep
Within When Original
And True Like All the Other
Unique Snowflakes iF iT Melts
‘Frosty The iMaGiNaTioN’ Is Not
Coming Back to Do Original Creativity
The Same
Way ever
Again
And True
It’s All A Gift
Any Way That not
All Are Fortunate to
Receive and at Best Give
Share Care Heal Away Free For
All with Most Respect Least Harm
Also True Integral to Golden Age Omens With SMiLes
That May Come Younger And Or Older as Precious Gifts
Do Arrive
From the
Depths
Of What No
Machine will
ever color new alone
Hehe It’s Like Asking AI
to Write Poetry About Love
We Might Get Unlimited Text
Yet Just Ask it for Shapes of Chalices
Trees and FLoWinG Lamps and See what
Comes BacK iN Return Once Again Golden
Age Omens With SMiLes AI A Worthy Servant
Yet Never
Master
of Soul
Not Much Different in Processing
Than How the Left Hemisphere
Grasps Reality and attempts to
Materially Reduce it Control it
And Gets Angry If it Cannot
Order Reality the Way
(FunDaMentaList This
Or That Way Alone)
it is Used to Doing
It Now While
The Right Hemisphere
Processing of Mind So Social
Empathic in Nuances of the Colors
of Human Emotions DarK Thru LiGHT
Understands and Helps to Create Metaphors of Soul
to Put All the Pieces of Humpty Dumpty (Reality) Back Together
Again Not Much Different than the Early Complainers associated
With the Catholic
Church Upset
That Stars Above
Were So Randomly Placed
Yet of Course Not With a View
Large Enough to See Beautifully
And Naturally Free Verse Soul Arranged
Without Even any Human controlled Abstract
Constructs of Words as Any Nautilus Creature
of the Sea is Able to Leave a A Milky Way Spiraling
Shell
Behind
For Proof
Of the Whole
of Spiraling Existence
Without
A Word
Ah Yes A Golden
PHI Age With Omens
of the Whole Down
Here too
With
SMiLes
Just Shells
Being Shells on the Beach
And Still Existing in the Fossil
Record 300 MiLLioN Years Omens Enduring
iNDeeD…
“Jack Kerouac” Had to Tape Pages Together on a Typewriter
to Flow a SouL Endlessly Free on Page Oh What A Dutiful Servant
AI
Will
Come to
Be For Souls
Who BREaTHE Free…
And On Top of that
my Handwriting is
Prescription rated Chicken Scratch
Oh the Beauty the Omens of a Golden
Age With SMiLes When Typewriters
Become
Pianos of
OPeN HeARTS
SPiRiTS SoULS
Just Spiraling ACross A Page
Free as ‘The UniVerse Creates Itself
Free
oN
Page
Yes SoUL Set Free
MuSiC oF ThE SPiRiT HeART
Let Loose Opening Deeper
Below For All Above Yes
Keep Preparing a Way AI
With
SMiLes..:)
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