The most curious thing, however, is remembering a previous time when you were remembering a time before that. When we were young, my sister and I used to play in our parent's bedroom.
The dressing table mirror had two moveable wings on each end of it. If we shifted all those strange and exotic jars of potion and cream and turned each of those moveable mirrors to face each other, then you could rest you head down on the cold wood and see infinite numbers of yourself curving off into endless dimensions without beginning and without end.
Slip into memories of memories and you can end up like that, staring at an ever-receding multiplicity of images stretching back and back. But like looking into the mirrors, you get dizzy with the infinite and have to pull back, back to the single reflection in the single mirror.
Too much memory can make the eyes heavy and bloated.
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