When I went through that last meme, I answered the question about piercings and tattoos quickly and easily. I have two piercings total. No tattoos. Duh. Yup. I have only two piercings, one in each of my ears. No need to peruse my body for more piercings or tattoos. I’m pretty familiar with my own body thank you.
Then I read other people’s answers to the meme…and I slowly became overwhelmed with doubt each time I reread the question, “How many piercings/tattoos do I have?” Wait. Did I have a double piercing in one of my ears? Didn’t I used to wear two earrings in my left ear, and one in my right? Somewhere, I felt there might have been the possibility that I wore two earrings, some dim recollection of physical sensation of two earrings. But I couldn’t remember anything specific, there was nothing in the forefront of my mind, nothing that I could bring to the forefront of my mind to back that deep instinctual, almost intuitive, possibility up.
I really, really wasn’t sure. And the more unsure I felt, the weirder I felt–isn’t this something I should know and remember? Why wouldn’t I remember something about my own body?
Did this mean I could have been abducted by space aliens and have never known? It was not a nice feeling.
I tried to look at my ear–did you know it’s REALLY hard to look at your own ear closely? So I took a picture. Did you know it’s hard to take a close up picture of your own ear? Hrm. That kind of LOOKS like a hole that closed up. But it could also just be a natural dimple in my ear. Hrm.
I asked my husband, who has known me since I was twenty years old. “Did I used to have two earring holes in my left ear?”
He looked at me, distracted by making turkey bacon for breakfast. “Yah.” The kitchen was filled with the rich smoke of the meat, and I could feel myself salivating but I was undeterred.
“Yah.” He said it like you’d say “Duh.”
“I used to have TWO earrings in my left ear? Did I wear them when I met you?”
“Yah,” he said, “You wore two earrings in your left ear when we first started dating.”
HUH? What ELSE have I forgotten? Egads.
It’s one of those things that slipped through the cracks of my memory, whether through age (though I doubt I’m old enough to start being that forgetful) or through the consequences of my stroke.
These days, when I remember things–it happens a lot like the above. Like I FEEL the answer but can’t believe it, because I don’t “remember” it, I can’t form a picture in my mind…but somehow, it FEELS right. And inevitably, the deep “feeling” I have is indeed a real memory–usually verified by others when I ask around to see if what I “remember” and “feel” really happened.