I've long thought (heck, I should stop right there) that memory cascades and branches. For instance, suppose you are talking about, oh, bread. Discussing bread can bring up moldy bread (follow the branching -- there could be other things brought up as well). Moldy bread could remind me that bread mold can reproduce sexually and asexually. That my old botany prof had never seem sexual reproduction of bread mold. That he taught a class I took called "The Morphology of Plants." That during that class's lab a whole table of us would sit around singing "We'll Sing In The Sunshine." Which brings up, "Hey, what ever happened to Gail Garnett?"

A discussion of bread mold might, at another time, end up somewhere else.

Lots of little mental doors swing open and dump their contents into the sludge stream of memory. Oddly enough, when these doors close again the little rooms are still full of what was there before.

I guess that we really are full of it. I must be, since people tell me that often enough.