I didn't keep a journal and the days all ran together. The only way to know when I did what, if I don't simply know, is by looking at when the pictures were taken. Since my camera battery would die and I didn't always have a way to charge it, there are gaps. Since my memory sucks for certain types of information, maybe all types of information, I have no idea what went on during some of the time there.
I just looked at pictures and found that the story I told about Sunday night actually took place Monday night. When writing, I remembered that I left camp after she went away on Sunday, visited some friends, and took a girl on a trike ride. After reviewing my pictures, I have absolutely no idea what I did Sunday night. It was Monday afternoon, after I met some interesting people, that I visited Dragon Ass towards sundown and then took a girl on a trike ride.
Memory is so plastic. Neither the real story as verified by pictures, nor the false one as written, seems any more real to me than the other. Is this normal, or am I pretty much going to be fucked when I'm a little bit older?
I'll write what I can and it won't matter if I get the days wrong because I'm not exactly writing a mystery novel. It only matters in terms of tracking my attitude and outlook as the week wore on and what that can tell me about myself, and that isn't terribly important anyway, except to me, and I don't need this for that.
Meanwhile here are the roughly eighteen percent of the pictures I took that made it into a Facebook album, gaps an' all: DonAtBurniMan2014
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
We put great stock in memory, I suppose. It is important in some contexts but ... you're right that it doesn't matter when telling a story. You spun a lovely tale and I could "see" what you wrote about (having been in that place, it's easy for me to see everything you wrote). So it's as valid a tale as the true one.
Think of it as you making the movie based on the book. You chop some scenes and combine others to make a more interesting tale.
Great pictures, though. The beautiful Sunya--what lucky dog behind the camera elicited that smile?
Reality. Don't get me started. The brain doesn't care. There is no Monday, there is no Sunday, in the one world, and when you go back to the other world to write about it, the world where it matters what "day" it is, you find the data strangely lacking.
I think you and Roy have hit the mark. You don't remember (or inaccurately remember) which day it was because it doesn't matter. You retained the only parts of the experience that did matter.
Agree with the smart peeps above. I too am experiencing memory merge/blur. It sometimes disturbs me, so I understand. Not sure if it's age in the sense that our brains are dissolving, but more like we're old, man, and there's a lot of stuff up there. Much easier to access precise dates and events when you only have like 4 important ones stacked neatly in the attic.
And great photos! :)
Post a Comment