The oddities of human memory
I’m working away, letting iTunes play what it will. Up comes “If This Is It” by Huey Lewis, and I’m pulled back in time. I was twelve years old, listening to the Sports album, my mind buried in the depths of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary.
Since I’ve been reading King’s books from age ten (gasp), I don’t think I was very sensitive to horror novels or movies by then. But it must be a little odd that I remember quite so much detail: the dead cat comes back to visit after being buried in a spooky cemetery, and he needs the bits of green garbage bag picked out of his whiskers—the very same garbage bag used to hold his stiffening corpse only the day before.
Perfectly normal to remember, right?
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