Being of nautical mind, I turned my memory palace into a
memory galleon. My most important memories were kept in the captain’s quarters,
my hopes in the crow’s nest, and the things that I’d rather forget in the brig.
The day’s tasks would be scrawled across the snapping sails in brilliant
vermillion ink, and day-to-day memories were boxed within the cargo hold.
As I aged though, I didn’t account for memory pirates, and when
the first grappling hook of Alzheimer’s sailed across the deck and snagged
itself against the starboard gunwhale, I knew I was in a for a fight…
