I have to watch my step. Memory is an intermittent joy and trap. I am either blessed or cursed with lots of experience. It’s intermittent, and it can be a pain, you know where.
A song can set it off and expose my memory weakness. I am in the thick of it and haven’t even moved. A bit too much like Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five for my liking.
I prefer my visits to the past without the audio prompts provided by old rock bands or folksingers. Those tend to stir the mud, and I have to deal with the recall of things that pierce the heart.
I prefer to trip through the past in a controlled fashion. I’m in charge. I visit as I wish. Dampen down the violence of young love, the intentness of feelings, or the stupidity of inaction.
This way, it becomes conjecture on the possibilities of human behavior. And not observations of our weaknesses.