Love is a battlefield

and my brain is a bookmarker.  Seriously.  I just realized this. 

The people closest to me represent the widest range of memory types, from long-term post-seizure brain scramble (it's a real thing! look it up!) to photographic, near eidetic memory.  I am situated firmly in between those two extremes; I'm grateful for what my brain chooses to retain, but always frustrated that it isn't better. 

That frustration stems from my ability to almost remember anything.  That's not a split infinitive; that's the verb.  To almost remember.  If I'm trying to recall a specific detail of a project about which I've read, I can't; but I can remember (after a moment) where I read it, usually including minutiae like the author, the accompanying graphic, and one or two of the more annoying comments.  That's happened more times than I can count.  Or if I'm trying to remember a particular punchline by one of my friends, the joke will elude me; but I can remember exactly where we were, and when (sometimes down to the minute!), and what the joke-teller was wearing.

How useless this all is!  Why, I plea with my brain, won't it remember what I want it to remember, especially when I want to remember it?  I suspect that if I were to try to think of the joke-teller's outfit or that picture, the target would again evade me and I'd have to think around the corners until I finally got to what I wanted. 

That's the thing, though; I do, almost always, remember exactly what I'm grasping for, or remember precisely where to look for the information.  I don't have the encyclopedic recall I crave, but I have, for better or worse, the next best thing: the recall of the encyclopedic...index.   

Maybe that's not a bad thing; maybe not keeping it all in my brain lets there be room for more indices than there would be otherwise!  Maybe that's wishful thinking...but maybe that's okay, too.