Where Did I Put Angela's Ashes?

I know I put Angela's
Ashes somewhere.

Come again?  What was that?

I am always, I think, amazed by the inconsistencies in my ability to remember.  This comes to mind because for the first time since, well I’m not sure, I am rereading a book: Angela’s Ashes. 

I am astonished when I flag a page in a novel and flip back to it weeks later and know exactly where to begin on that page.  This sentence is intended to elicit such a sensation.  I scan the page and tell myself, “I have already read those bits, ah there I am.”  Isn’t that cool?  Actually I feel like a dork for even thinking about it (hey, this is my stream of conscious – welcome).  But for someone who doesn’t even know his own phone number (yes, I have one now but it is such an odd combination of digits), it is a good feeling to know exactly where my reading begins on page 323. I will spare you an analysis of how this phenomenon plays out on a Kindle.

So let’s see where this re-read takes me, will I remember complete passages?  Will I recall the good bits?  It has been years since I read Frank McCourt’s gem.  Do you know that it was his first book, a memoir, which he published in his sixties?  There is hope.      

I considered creating a “dork” tag for this post, but then realized I would have to go back and tag all 23 posts with it.  I must revise my book, quit worrying about the novel on my bedside table (if I had one), and stop procrastinating.  Who cares if I remember particular parts of Angela’s Ashes? This sentence is intended to elicit such a sensation.

Happy procrastinating, whoops I mean revising…