Memories. Blasted things they are. Positively wicked I’d say. The right ones are never there when you need them. I wish we had a systematic catalogue for memories. This process would have been so much less painful. Sifting through all this crap with only a chance of finding what you are looking for …. just about the most horrid thing I can think of.
Damn it! Why can I not remember? I used it just the day before. Where did I keep it?
There it is. Heh. Memories of childhood come to me. I remember learning to tie different kinds of knots in school when I was in the Scouts. Little Jimmy, my best friend, could never do it properly. He used to make such a funny face just before he gave into the frustration and finally began to cry.
Oh well, enough of this.
I wonder if this fan can take 80 kgs. If it does, good for me; if not, I’ll have to remember where I kept that pistol. That would certainly not be good for you know…. memories. Blasted things they are.