Hard Drive Nearly Full

My brain contains literally scads of useless information. Yes, literally. Yes, scads. And yes, useless. This would not normally be a problem, except for the fact that my brain seems to have reached its capacity, and now, in order to retain new information, I have to delete some old information to make room for it. Once I delete the old information, and insert the new information, the old information is wiped out, and the space that previously contained the old information is filled with the new. At least I think that's what is happening. I can never check to be sure because I cannot know after the fact what information was deleted.

This has been going on for about a month now, and there's a part of me that is beginning to obsess over the deleted information. That part of me says, "What if that information wasn't as useless as I thought when I deleted it?" The other part of me replies, "Hey, let it go. It's gone and there's nothing you can do about it." I suppose it wouldn't bother me so much if I knew for sure, after the fact, that the purged information was truly useless. But when I decide to reconsider whether or not it was really, actually useless, I realize that there's no way to actually reconsider it, because the information is purged. It's sort of disturbing. And it sort of goes like this:

Me: That's a nice song. I think I'd like to retain the lyrics.
Myself: Can't. There's no room for it, remember?
Me: That's right. Then how the Funk 'n' Wagnalls am I supposed to remember these lyrics so I can sing along at some later point in time?
Myself: Well, some stuff has to be deleted in order to make room in the brain for the lyrics.
Me: Oh. Right. So what useless information can I delete?
Myself: Hmm. Maybe that stuff about the central nervous system and neurotransmitters and how acetylcholine is excreted from the axon endplates of the motor neurons?
Me: No, I want to keep that. It sounds impressive.
Myself: Yes, that's right. Ok.
Me: What about some lame memories? There are some pretty useless memories in there, right?
Myself: No, keep those. They make good stories.
Me: Right again. Hmm. How about stuff I learnt in school that I don't need anymore?
Myself: Sure. There are all those geometry theorems, proofs and postulates learnt in the ninth grade. Remember the SAS Theorem (i.e., Side-Angle-Side Theorem, more preferably labeled the Angle-Side-Side Theorem by we ninth graders) and the SSS Theorem, etc.?
Me: Yes, that stuff sounds pretty useless.
Myself: Agreed. Shall I go ahead and purge?
Me: Sure.
Myself: Ok, here goes ...
Me: No wait!
Myself: What?
Me: What if someday I want to prove the congruency of a triangle. You know, just for the fun of it?
Myself:
Me: Seriously.
Myself. Oh stop. Please, you're being ridiculous.
Me: Ok, you're right. That is some pretty useless stuff. Go ahead. Start purging.
Myself: Purging now.
Me:
Myself:
Me: These are some lovely lyrics.
Myself: Yes, they are.
Me: I sure hope I don't need the information that was just purged.
Myself:
Me: Ya know?
Myself:
Me: Seriously. I may need that information someday. One never knows.
Myself: What information?
Me:
Myself: I said: what information?
Me: I don't know!
Myself: Exactly.
Me: I don't remember it! Oh my god.
Myself. That's the point, numbnuts. If it could be remembered, it would not be purged, now would it?
Me: You're right. I just hope I don't need it.
Myself: Need what?
Me: I don't know. I forget.
Myself:
Me:
Myself:
Me: Lovely lyrics, aren't they?
Myself: Yes. Splendid.

THERE SHOULD BE A NAME FOR IT

I was walking along the River Trail, carelessly putting one foot in front of the other. I say "carelessly" because, as an upright organism adept at bipedal locomotion, I do this sort of thing all the time, and it does not seem to require special attention.

As I out looked out over the water of the Allegheny River, minding my own business, pondering the profundities of bipedalism, the flow of river water and what-not, I heard a sound that I'll never forget. I listened carefully and soon realized that I was hearing a song. It was eerily beautiful and sublime, although those words fail to adequately capture its ethereal quality. As I drew nearer to the source of the singing, I realized that it was coming from a massive white bird. It was lying on the shore of the river, half out of the water. It was apparently dying. And singing.

I wondered to myself. I say "to myself" because I could have wondered aloud, but what would be the point? That big white duck (or swan maybe?), despite its bipedal prowess, was probably not capable of the higher brain function of language. And even if it did have language skills, chances are that it wouldn't be very keen on speaking and understanding English, given its lack of lips, and the difficulty such a lipless creature would have pronouncing consonants such as P and B and F.

I wondered to myself, "Why would a huge white goose (or swan maybe?) lie here in its final moments of life and sing such a strangely beautiful song, instead of calling for help (in its own lipless language) or perhaps quietly reflecting on its existence as an aquatic fowl?"

It really was a nice song, though. Which I said to it: "Hey; nice song there," momentarily forgetting my earlier reasoning about not talking to it. At that moment, the bird picked up its head slightly. Without missing a note, it looked at me with its cloudy black eyes for just a second. Then it put its head back down and, apparently, died. I assumed it died because it stopped with the singing, and then made this phlegmy "errrrrghkkkkgggggkkkklllllgggglll" sound.

While I remember well that gurgling death-sound, it was the song that was most memorable. It haunts me to this day. There should be a name for it.