as i get older it seems the brain that is my computer - or is it the computer that is my brain? - gets shorter on storage. everything starts to scramble and popup at the most random times.
right now, as i'm trying to do data entry at my parttime job as an assistant, i am bombarded with distracting, almost tangible memories of a museum i visited in my childhood.
the oak trees along the shaded concrete path are thick, the woods beyond so dense that it feels almost like nighttime as i stand near a small driving bridge. the water is rushing and bubbling beneath. it feels like rain.
there is a loghouse museum here, an homage to the olden-days that i always found so magical. there's a gigantic dollhouse divided from my eager fingers by thick glass. it's still decorated in the 1850's style from when it was first filled with intricately designed furniture and props, perhaps by a little girl my age.
there's a sparkling train set, as broad, old-fashioned and intricate as the Ghostbusters trainset in the attic.
i am moving through the the musty dampness towards the vanilla warmth and buttery staleness of the ice cream parlor in the next room. I am looking forward to a bag of popcorn in a red and white striped bag. I can still feel the moist chill of the trees outside, on my forearms.
it's as if i'm there.
random, graphic moments such as these, from a long-forgotten time, have been popping up in my consciousness with all too much regularity these days. this brain-computer seems to be firing at random, digging up files i didn't even know still existed.