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It's one of those mornings where I feel I have to say a few things.
First thing I want to say is: people need to stop coming up to me at work and ruining my flow/day by telling me how "they just heard" and "how sorry they are for my loss" because I need to work while I'm at work not get sucked down into thinking about the few, random memories of my dad and get them started whirling through my head like a carousel.
The creation of that carousel is like a mini-thought-palace, more of a snow globe really, where I've taken all the snippets of memory and pasted them in the place of all the creatures on the carousel so that as it goes round I can see them together. The clearest one is a tiny, vague movie reel of learning how to drive in an empty parking lot, with my feet just able to reach the pedals and being just tall enough to see out the windsheild. I could be wrong about the details but that is the most clear of my vague memories. Another is the scent of solvents, grease and oil from walking around the City's big hanger like garage building with all the big huge orange trucks in various states of disassemblage.
The memories are important to me, and I've stored them away in a place inside my brain so that I can examine them in my own choice of time and need. Having that choice foisted upon me is shocking me and making me unable to focus on the stuff I need to be focused on at work. It's to the point at which I'm tempted to not acknowledge anyone's presence around me just on the off chance that they will take the opportunity to throw it out there at me.
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The cochlea /ˈkɒk.lɪə/ is the auditory portion of the inner ear. It is a spiral-shaped cavity in the bony labyrinth, in humans making 2.5 turns around its axis, the modiolus.
First thing I want to say is: people need to stop coming up to me at work and ruining my flow/day by telling me how "they just heard" and "how sorry they are for my loss" because I need to work while I'm at work not get sucked down into thinking about the few, random memories of my dad and get them started whirling through my head like a carousel.
The creation of that carousel is like a mini-thought-palace, more of a snow globe really, where I've taken all the snippets of memory and pasted them in the place of all the creatures on the carousel so that as it goes round I can see them together. The clearest one is a tiny, vague movie reel of learning how to drive in an empty parking lot, with my feet just able to reach the pedals and being just tall enough to see out the windsheild. I could be wrong about the details but that is the most clear of my vague memories. Another is the scent of solvents, grease and oil from walking around the City's big hanger like garage building with all the big huge orange trucks in various states of disassemblage.
The memories are important to me, and I've stored them away in a place inside my brain so that I can examine them in my own choice of time and need. Having that choice foisted upon me is shocking me and making me unable to focus on the stuff I need to be focused on at work. It's to the point at which I'm tempted to not acknowledge anyone's presence around me just on the off chance that they will take the opportunity to throw it out there at me.
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The cochlea /ˈkɒk.lɪə/ is the auditory portion of the inner ear. It is a spiral-shaped cavity in the bony labyrinth, in humans making 2.5 turns around its axis, the modiolus.
