Stephen King describes the way the mind stores things as an attic or room full of boxes. I have heard many forms of this same idea used to describe the mind, though I have never understood it really. Boxes seem so organized, almost as if everything is filed in its proper place. I've never really remembered things that way.
To me, its more like digging through a pile that is completely out of order, and you just happen to stumble upon things. To me, it's always seemed like one little corner of the room that's separated by a curtain. To me, you either place things behind it with love and fondness, or throw something in there and run like hell, hoping and praying it doesn't come back out chasing you.
Lately, there hasn't been much noise coming from behind there, but on other occasions you can here the laugh of a baby, the blare of almost constant music playing, or even the sound of sirens. Lots of things are behind there, and before I leave, there will be many, many more.
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