Its a Junkyard in there- a Nutshell

Perhaps most peoples’ brains generally work the same way. We see something and our brain tells us what it is. When we touch something, how ever it feels, it gets sent rather quickly to our brain and we feel that its hot, cold, rough, soft, or whatever. We see and experience so many things every minute of every day, but most people easily can filter out what is important or worth and what is not. If everyone were to remember every single thing emotion and sensation they experienced every minute of everyday, boy I don’t know what to tell you, then. I don’t think much would get done because we’d all by pretty distracted by something that probably doesn’t even matter. When I think about brains, that scene in the end of “Raiders of The Lost Arch” pops up in my head; the room with all those wood crates where they eventually store the Arch. That room reminds me of a brain in that everything inside it is all we know. Everything we have seen and all that we have experienced is located inside. Its all organized in different crates of different sizes and importance; each one assigned a barcode for our brain- a robot, to scan, recognize, open and bring out for use. This robot, that finds what we need, is very fast and usually knows what’s going to be needed and puts what’s needed first and foremost, closest to the door, where you are waiting for it.
In my brain, most of these crates are open. The majority of them are used and then not put back in the correct place. They are scattered around the floor, opened and are constantly mixing together, meshing memories. Nothing is filtered. Everything is a first priority. My helper robot, who is to recover items I need, is not a robot at all, but nothing more than an over-excited dog, ready to play fetch. Of course, he can talk because we need to communicate, but he’s not as reliable as most. When I am in math class trying to remember what formula I use to find the hypotenuse, I say, “Go get me math, Robo!” and he runs off, lost in the chaos of the crates. He comes back quickly and says, “Here’s a cheeseburger,” holding it out to me. “No, Robo. Math. I need math.” He looks me in the eyes and then down at the cheeseburger. “Here’s a Cheeseburger, buddy,” he says with a friendly smile. By this time, a hankering for a cheeseburger has most likely built up within me and I take it from him, looking forward to an enjoyable snack. In doing so, I forget about the formula, a hypotenuse, and that I’m even in a math class because as far as I know, I’m in Crate World, exploring and pondering life while eating lunch. It’s like a junkyard in there. You can always find something interesting in any direction that you look. I try to get out of there, but when I turn and head towards the door, something catches my eye. For example, it could be a mustache, corn chips, opening up a restaurant called, “Flap Jack Sunday.” One night I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about finding bat eggs under my pillow and freaking out about it. The fact that I like just about every movie I see, including all the Batman movies, though I’d never admit it. Recently, I was on a flight back to Chicago and they were showing Batman And Robin. I got goose bumps through out it and was embarrassed for letting it happen. Someone cut in front me once in the meat line when I was eating at Old Country Buffet, but I let him have it. He was old, heavy and I figured those few hours of fine dining were all he had to look forward to per week. So, I let him have his dignity. I often think about fried chicken and I associate it with homeless people. I get Hankerings. I think about Garbage, Coffee, Not having a job, and reading brail. I think about losing my cool and taking a dump on the bus every time I go Number Two. Being socially awkward. Whatever it is, I have to check it out because I cannot pass it by. Through out my time spent in the junkyard and seeing everything that is my life, I have come to the understanding that I have the ability of memory; more like super memory, I think. Most might say, “Hey, that’s pretty cool,” with a knockout smile. And I say, “Yeah, I guess it is,” trying to balance out the enthusiasm. With this kind of power though, it is often a challenge to think straight and concentrate when I really need to. In class, I often “check out” before we are dismissed due to daydreaming. In English right now we are working on argumentation and will soon be writing papers on in. The professor asked us for an example of something that is obvious and that you don’t need to argue with it because there is no point. Without thinking twice, I think of tacos. And then burritos. I love Chipotle. I don’t see how anyone cannot like good tacos or burritos. And anyone that does disagree is just stupid. If I said that, though, professor would claim that what I attempted to do was persuade, and not to argue. Before I know it, I have a hankering for tacos. My mouth begins to salivate and anyone who may have noticed would observe slight to adequate uneasiness. Something, obviously, is missing. Paul recently got a breakfast burrito while out all night. As he enjoyed it the next morning, I watched with envy and wish I too, had a breakfast burrito. Instead, I did my best to benefit from Store Brand Apple and Cinnamon Toasty Round’s. By this time, I realized I “checked out,” and missed some of the lecture.
These are just examples of distractions that happen everyday. They are my worst enemy. In situations where someone (me) has to be vigilant, I would notice anything and everything with an alert conscience, but it would be that, which comes from within me that pulls me away from my duty. I get lost, exploring the junkyard.