I can recall last year. I can recall the year before it, too, but not as well. The further back I go, the weaker my memory gets. Holes and inconsistencies appear. Events fade into impressionistic blurs.
Past a certain point, the only data available is corrupt and unreadable. Whatever happened to me before about 1992 is a mystery.
I wonder. Is my mind’s capacity fixed and finite? Does every new experience push an old one out?
Maybe the old experiences still hang around, inert and inaccessible, buried in the axons of the deepest layers of my brain.
Maybe I’m not losing the memories themselves. Maybe I’m just losing pieces of the index I use to retrieve them. Maybe memory loss isn’t so much a storage problem as it is an access one.
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