I have a bad memory, except for the moment or times that I remember well. It wasn’t really a choice; it’s the only way I can write. If I tried to use a longer narrative I would bore myself sick with myself. I am also not enamored of chronology. This happened and then this, and then this, is just plain boring. But one vivid memory and another really punctuate a life, or mine, anyway. The interstitial stuff, like what were my jobs, are uninteresting. Unless, of course, they are.