Vergesslich - Forgetful

My memory works in mysterious ways - a bit like God but far less full of love for humankind. See, midway through that sentence I forgot my opening statement, making the end bit make hardly any sense. I’ll often forget things said or done literally seconds before, yet I’ll remember the most uninteresting details of a conversation that took place back when I was twelve. Something that needs Googling will pop in my head, but by the time the web browser loads, whatever it was has buggered off. It’s like my memory is a transport hub in a bad area for travelling thoughts and ideas - they get off and change busses as quickly as possible. The aim is of course to say “Woah, wait a minute man!” and proceed to trick them into staying in the vaults of my memory bank on a long-term basis, being instantly accessible for a hilarious dinner party anecdote or police interview. Ha! Like I’d ever get a dinner party invite. Focus Andrew, focus! Okay. Perhaps the problem is the lack of desirable accommodation inside my head. If I made my brain more attractive to all thoughts and ideas, they might actually want to settle in more permanently. All this bottled-up anger, frustration, cynicism and bitterness toward my fellow man, justifiable as I’m convinced it is, probably makes it as appealing a residence as Wormwood Scrubs or 25 Cromwell Street. It’s possible the more happy, nice, loving feelings I have, the more a utopian paradise my mind will become. I’ve seen it. Meadows, trees, flowers, butterflies, rabbits, beautiful women, massive food surpluses and free Xbox Live! for everyone! Within days I’d have more memory than ever before, as bus and trainloads of transient thoughts rush to set up home. I’d wow everyone with my superior knowledge on every topic imaginable and, self-confidence sky-high, I’d be genuinely content. Until of course that eerie siren goes off and I simultaneous shit myself and curse my reckless forgetfulness. Bloody Morlocks! The council told me they’d approved planning permission for an underground lair-come-thought-buffet, but it just slipped my mind. No excuse. So they come out all whips-a-cracking and angry roars-a-roaring. The ideas and notions they don’t round up and scoff down just retreat full-pelt back to their trains and busses, leaving me even more cognitively inept than before. So based on that strained futuristic vision, it’s far safer to not mess with anything and just accept my memory is as rubbish as something else that’s very rubbish. Like my thesaurus. Oh, and endings.