Compartmentalizing

I've become an expert at compartmentalizing, so good at hiding away what I don't want, or am not ready, to face, that I am sometimes not aware when I do it. Scary, to not be in control of myself. But have I ever been? I'm not trying to argue whether or not there is such a thing as free will, though. That debate is for another day.

I am reminded of "Dream Catcher." If I looked into my mind, would I find rows upon rows of filing cabinets? I'm more partial to shelves myself. There's something soothing about organizing things in general. I can lose myself in the simple, almost mindless tasks. Sometimes I need that.

So many times I have wished I could freeze time and capture a particular moment, a particular emotion, a particular thought. I think one of the biggest reasons why I write, why I continually return to the past, is because I have a need, a compulsion, to somehow record and make permanent these tiny, meaningful fragments of my life. Even if it is only to myself, at least someone recognizes and appreciates them. One of the greatest tragedies is to let the meaningful moments not just pass by, but fade away. But is memory meaning?

Of late, I find pieces of memory and meaning shifting within their confines in my mind, causing all sorts of friction and uncomfortable aching. What I wouldn't give...but no, there is not much chance that I would part with these memories, pain or no. So now the cycle repeats...