Goldfish Memory

Goldfish are smarter than you think. Not that you think about it. But I think about it. Because, well, because I think about it. Perhaps I should be thinking about other things, but I can't remember what they are.

There was a rumor circulating that Goldfish only had about 8 seconds of memory. I'm pretty sure Mythbusters cleared that up, and of course, since you all watch Mythbusters, there's no reason to tell you that goldfish can navigate mazes and remember directions.

Which is more than I can say for myself.

Not that I feel bad about that. Goldfish got game, people, but I got GPS. No contest. Unless of course, I end up driving off a cliff because Margot (that's what I call my GPS voice--trust me, it totally fits) tells me to drive off a cliff and I--being too distracted by talking on my cell phone whilst texting and shuffling my iPod to actually use common sense--comply. That is what I refer to as death by navigation but what people who drive near me might call poetic justice. Or leaving room for Darwin.

Anyway.

Goldfish have been proven to have memories lasting up to three months. Possibly longer. Perhaps these results were obtained through well-funded studies with impeccable controls. It's possible. But I'm guessing grad student thesis projects, so who knows if the data weren't botched, skewed, or invented. Unless, it was a government study. If that's the case, forget I said anything. Government grants have to be renewed--you know how that goes.

Remember the lemmings annual cliff run, people? Total hoax.

B*stards.

Whatever.

This is the thing. Time for me, unlike the unfairly maligned goldfish, seems to have lost all meaning. I seem to have the mythical, if not the actual, goldfish memory. Case in point: eight seconds after I started this post, I forgot what it was I intended to say.

Kidding. I never had any intentions.

I just blog as a form of procrastinating doing the dishes. Don't get me wrong, I'm not apologizing for it. You just read my blog as a way of procrastinating doing whatever the heck it is you're supposed to be doing. It's what we around here like to call codependency.

Don't panic. There are support groups. You just won't find them here.

In any case, I like to reminisce about when I used to be able to remember stuff. It's this whole fantasy I have about a time when I just knew, months in advance, what day and time I was expected at the dentist and then, when that day came, I arrived on time.

There is a chance, that like the lemming run, this never happened, but I like to believe it is true. And there are no government studies proving otherwise, although in all fairness, Mr. Poppins probably has contrary anecdotal evidence. But he doesn't have documentation, people, so let's just stay with me here.

I used to be on time and had a good memory.

I could remember all kinds of things. Like that a group of crows was called a murder.

Seriously, both The Dol and Mr. Poppins wrote me immediately to correct me when I called a group of crows a coven. Sure, it took The Dol a week to respond to Kokology and Mr. Poppins still hasn't, and probably never will respond, but call a flock of crows by the wrong archaic label and suddenly they got time. Whatever.

The point is I don't know anymore, not without checking. Not what to call a group of crows, not where I put my car keys, and not even how old I am. There are no blink-fast, jeopardy quick reflexes at work in my brain anymore.

At first this bothered me. Now I just kind of shrug a lot.

Comments

[Karita]

Did I submit this blog post to you and then forget about it? Because this has me written all over it.

Possibly for the fact that I have never been able to remember anything, that I can remember, which isn't much.

[Ramblin' Jack]

Sorry. I posted ages ago that Kokology had jumped the shark, and I stand by that assessment. I just skip over them now.

And I'm no flash toff, but archaic labels are just my thing.

Deal.

[Diosa]

It never ceases to amaze me how the words just fall out of my brain when I want them.