Brain sells

I have a limited number of brain cells. I'm not saying I can count them, but my finite skull cannot hold the planet sized brain that might allow for knowing everything. So the fact is, I don't know stuff and I have had to forget stuff. But what confuses me is how my brain has decided what to keep and what to forget.

I was driving in this morning and I recalled a conversation from some point in high school. My friend, Alon, was telling a story about his brother (whose name might be Jared but this, I don't remember). I recall the punch line and precisely what he reported his brother said. I shan't repeat it because it is a bit off color and might embarrass the brother (whom I have never met) but I remember it. I can't remember a huge slew of stuff I need on a daily basis -- names, dates, phone numbers and directions. I have brain cells that are used up remembering stupid sports trivia, cultural references, stuff I learned in college, and childhood traumas, so they are tied up and unable to be allocated to recall where I put my glasses. Spoiler alert, you put them in the laundry. Don't wonder why. Things got weird, deal with it.

I believe in a memory much like a line item veto. I should be able to choose whether or not I remember a fact (I can then choose to qwrite down the things that I don't intend to waste brain space on). That way, I can voluntarily forget that I once had a peanut butter sanwich at the house of a girl whose name is Michelle, and whom I went to pre-K with. I have no more details about this event and it has never served me as anything useful. But I have it -- a full blown memory which is a complete misapplication of resources. I don't know Michelle's last name, or why i was eating a sandwich at her house. I was, I'm guessing, 3 years old. Or maybe 4 or 5. Whatever. I was little. Stop grilling me about it.

What else do I remember? The combination to my locker in high school (34-24-14). I assume I won't need that. A conversation I had with a school friend named Stu about how to hold your hands when running around in gym. 10 or so years old. Unneeded. How about the name of the first podiatrist I saw when I was a teenager. Or the pediatrician's office I used to go to and the huge container of multi-colored Tootsie Rolls. I remember the SRA's and the colors and how I always came in second to Leora. Argh, why can't I wipe that one and reuse the brain cells to help me understand bitcoin?