On Suicide and Memory (Part Two) 5/2010

 [If you have not read On Suicide and Memory (Part One) 5/2010, you can follow the link back to that post.]

Trying to remember stuff, finding it has problems. It being the brain. I cannot remember my mother's last husband's surname. Davis? If not, who the hell was Don Davis? I have been trying to think when I started playing with what has gotten me in trouble. Lost like in a fog. Other times it is like driving n winter time - dry pavement (good, memory working) then hitting ice (bad, cannot get hold of something I know ought to be in my head.)

Odd, odd feeling - a little lost when I cannot reconnect with what I know is in my head to remember. If I cannot remember facts, how can I judge reality? Is this what it is like for Alzheimer's or stroke patients?

No idea of the cause. Never was good at remembering names. Used to be good at remembering faces, but got worse as there were more and more faces. Time, dates started melting into one another years ago. Used to be fun or saddening to be watching a movie on TV and realize how long ago I had seen it at the theater. But the last month or two before removal from the world, I began to notice that I could not put client's names with their cases - that never happened before.

Friends in Muncie talked about mini-strokes. I put it down to my sleep apnea, or what the Muncie friends and I were smoking.

But why does it seem more apparent now? I have not had any nicotine but half a pack of Camels for over two weeks. No cocaine since the night before my arrest. No caffeine since the morning of my arrest. (Coca-Cola is going to miss me.) I do not have a million ideas buzzing through my brain as I would if I were still a practicing attorney. Mystery for sure.

I must admit an anchovy pizza remains in memory, and the idea of having another interests me. My mother quoted a nun she knew, Sister Charles Lucille, on the subject of suicide. Those that talk about it, don't do it. Neither do those lusting for an anchovy pizza.

Adam Hall's Quiller was saying something along the lines of the organism is hardwired to survive. Maybe there is the reason I survive? Or just the appearance of one? I bet on the second.

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