The Hippocampus Has Left the Building Some mornings, I swear my hippocampus packs a small suitcase, leaves a note on the counter, and slips out the back door before I’m even awake. No warning. No forwarding address. Just gone. And there I am, standing in the kitchen, trying to remember why I walked in there in the first place or how my glasses got on top of my head. People tell me it’s age. I tell them it’s abandonment. But here’s the strange part: even when memory wanders off, the feeling of the memory stays behind. The emotional imprint. The echo. The sense that something important happened — even if the details are now floating somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico or America, whatever. It’s a reminder that the brain is not a filing cabinet. It’s a living, shifting landscape. And sometimes the tour guide goes missing. Memory Isn’t Lost — It Just Hides in the Corners The hippocampus is supposed to help us store and retrieve memories. Lately, mine seems to prefer the “store” part and for...
