Peering Myopically Into the Past

I have a very good long-term memory.

Because of this, I can recall things that happened or places or objects from a very long time ago. This ability to remember means that they always are very fresh in my mind, as if they happened yesterday, or perhaps last week. In reality they are 30 year-old memories. For example, I can remember my neighbour's car registration from 1978. HLC 84T. It was a dark blue Ford Cortina 1.6GL estate, a company car, and the owner worked for IPC Magazines.
I can recall many other small and obscure details about every aspect of where I lived, who I knew. Who wore what aftershave, what colour shoes they had, what their favourite meals are, how they ate their peas in with their mash.

It's quite amazing exactly how much junk I have in my cranial attic.

And I continue to cram it in. In bucketloads.

Newspaper articles, television documentaries, books. Books especially. I can remember whole chunks of paragraphs and even what word a chapter starts with from books that I read at Primary school.
I remember many of the cars that my teachers had from all my schools, the way the green paint flaked on the toilet doors, the diary entries I wrote aged six in my school books after the Summer hols. I can remember the name of my first proper bicycle - a Raleigh Chicco, from my 5th birthday. The name of the paint of my Dad's Hillman Minx (Forest Green). Quite easily I can tell you the exact make and model of any British car from the 1970s just by looking at a wheeltrim. What optional extras you could have with it; what came as standard; what colours you could buy it in.

I remember what I said, how I felt, what I thought, what it smelt like, who owned it, where it was, why it was there, when it was moved.

Not many people would like to be me.

At any one point in time, I will have a multi-coloured explosion of memories bombarding me. Absolutely anything I do, I associate with a memory of something else. People, places, times.

There is no peace for me, in my little world. Nothing is ever quiet. I never have a blank moment. I even dream some of my memories.

When I meet someone from twenty years ago, I will simply continue the conversation that I was having with them the last time I saw them.

It's exhausting. And it's achingly hard to concentrate on anything for any length of time.

Perversely, it also means that I forget important things. I can't remember what I've just walked into a shop to buy, and will have to ring Mrs. Sergei to ask.

I forget birthdays, appointments, family events, work tasks.

I think I'm nearing capacity. Can anyone teach me how to lose some of this junk, and make room?

Erm......oh yes.

Sergei.