Hypermnesia

All the thoughts are there, and yet I draw a blank. The databanks are full, but I get tired of sorting through, so I chuck it and opt for something mindless. Something time-consuming. Something without promise or pretense.

I carry memory with me like a great armload of groceries. An overambitious, can't-quite-get-your-arms-around-it heap that cripples you on the stairs. And all because you didn't want to have to go back out to the car for another trip. I carry memory that makes me knock things over when I turn corners. I carry it and it makes me unwieldy and graceless. Bulky and tedious. I was never as lithe or as loose as the forgetters of the world.

I would toss you a line, but I can't see if you are still floating out there. And I don't know that you want to be towed in. I would use a tractor beam, but technology has as yet failed to give me nearly everything I have wanted. Teleportation. Time travel. Unlimited do-overs. Justice. I would reach out my hand, but I have this fear of dark places. A shark might leap up and bite it off. Something slimy might touch it. It might get cold. I would call out or sing a song or whisper something soft. But how could you ever hear me over the sound of the sea? I would sneak up on you, but I am wearing tap shoes. And you were never moved by my surprises. I would make us a picnic, but I don't want to carry it all alone. I've got my hands full with this memory business as it is.