It took me a long time to wrap my head around that because I'm an entirely visual thinker. I see mentally what I'm thinking about always, to include the text as it appears on the page, font as well. I can't think of the word itself, but instead visualize it as it has been shown to me before. This has been a useful skill as most of my electronics work is theoretical, and I have the visualize the internal workings of an electron microscope, and previously jet aircraft. I think in snapshots and have a photographic memory. Thinking any other way to me is just as foreign as speaking another language. For the longest time I thought everyone felt that way. In writing it's fun because I see the scenes before I write them. It's like a movie I can change at will.
Not since I was very young. I used to do architectural drawings and vehicles. Never did painting except for miniature models (mostly Warhammer). I haven't drawn anything in many years though. Simply a skill I don't have enough time or desire to increase.
I believe this depends on the kind of thinking. The mind chooses the prefered path upon the type of task. When I'm thinking about a story I'm thinking visually. I see it. Same goes to daydreaming or recollecting memories. When I'm trying to type down what I've already thought about, I think with words because that's what I'm trying to do. Most of the times though, I have no idea in which form I'm thinking. I guess it's a mix of things. Audiovisual, taste, smell, but mostly in concepts that have no specific form. They're too fast and moving in order to gain form. Like scattered photons.
I like to flip between books that I read, much to the annoyance of my friends. "Why can't you just read one book at a time?" "I don't remember asking you for your opinion."
Oh boy. About 3-fold, from least bad to worse. I've always preferred to hear bad news first, so in order: Confession: My tortie has a malignant tumor, and the vet is thinking anywhere from weeks to months, even if he's not certain. I've never had any of my cats have cancer, so I hadn't known what to look for. So far, she's still the same, almost three weeks after her diagnosis, so "just weeks" is almost nixed. This is the most patient I've been with a pet. For the first time, I'm actually putting my books aside to let her on my lap, knowing that it would get in the way of my writing, but anything to make my time with her count. I am not usually generous with my lap if I'm writing. There's not only a change in me, but it seems to be for her. She usually runs and hides when someone aside from my youngest brother comes over, but when my other brother came over... she just remained by my side. It was like looking at a different cat. She was a borderline feral kitten when we first got her, and she continued to hide even after she had matured. I feel like she knows she's living on borrowed time, because she's been a braver cat lately. I guess that this is what it's like to witness "character development" in an eight year old cat. In a way, I've accomplished something that I was unable to do when I was a girl still living with either parent: I managed to keep a cat for more than five years before I would be forced to get rid of them. (Mom was guilty of this one. I never kept a pet when living with Dad, so he's innocent in this regard.) I'm doing what I can to keep an eye on her. There's little more I can do, except keep her happy as long as I can before she succumbs. At least time, by then, I'll have the chance to say goodbye, since I had grown up never having the chance to say that to any of my other previous cats.
I confess that I sometimes get in bed during the day for no other reason than to daydream about Joshy.
For as long as I can remember, if I ever thought of the months of the year I would see them organised in an elliptical shape and they went anti-clockwise for some reason. If they were at points of a compass, January would be east, July and August were west. If I were to wonder how long till Christmas, I wouldn't count months, rather I would see the angle in my head
Yeah me too, except mine goes clockwise. But for me it was a hindrance because I see the whole thing at a weird angle, like the year is a candy land board and I'm looking across it from the side. So I can see fall and summer clearly, but spring is on the other side of the table and I can't see the months clearly. So it took me forever to figure out the order of the spring months. I think I finally have a handle on it, though.
Sort of like a clock face? Yeah, it makes perfect sense. A clock face is a linear progression bent around into a circle so the end meets the beginning and the cycle can continue. I visualize many things that way. Or the more complex variation of a spiral, so that each cycle is 'above' the last one, denoting some progress being made each time.
Exactly, but squashed. I have no idea why it has to be squashed, but there it is! The spiral thing would be way beyond the capacity my simple little mind!
I mean something like this: Though it's usually seen at an angle like this, so you can see it in depth: If you imagine it with each full turning being for instance a year in your life, then you can plot your development (or digression). Or each full turning could be a 24-hour day, and seven full turnings make up a week.
We had a pair of fancy rats we raised from birth --brothers--,and they were perfect pets. But for some reason all such rats live only to about the age of 3, and so it was with these two. I recall when the first one died, it was November, and here I was, out in the cold dampness, digging a small rat-grave, with a tear sliding down my cheek. How unexpected, I thought, to find myself deeply mourning a rodent. But I really still miss them both, years later (the brother died a month later). So here's to you, Rocky and Harry, looking forward to seeing you guys whenever I cross over.
I confess: I suck at signing. At some point someone might realise that my signature is never the same (I've given up on coming up with a specific style or ideogram long ago) and that I'm only moving the pen on paper scribbling an incoherent something, imitating the look of a veteran signer. If only I could simply X everything, I wouldn't have to bother with this farce anymore.
I e-sign everything now. I don't even half remember signing much, and when I do it looks terrible. You're not alone.
Certainly no perfect recall for me, but I too have a very visual inner auditorium. I wonder if this is why I have such a difficult time describing things out in detail. I see things so fully with few words that I have a painful tendency of redeploying that concept as if everyone does the same.
When I was a lawyer, I did a lot of signing, and my signature got worse each time. I once worked with a federal judge whose signature looked like a capital "O" even though he didn't even have that letter in his name.
I send people cards in the mail or letters and I sign them. My first name is legible. My last name, however, looks like I sneezed in the middle of it.
I have two signatures, a formal signature that looks as if I just learned cursive today, and a scribble that slowly evolved over the years to resemble none of the letters in my name. My fine motor skills are such that I can't make two of either match to save my life. What are we all going to do for book signings?
