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FROM THE OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER

My brain, like yours, is remarkable. Sometimes it astounds me by creating a string of words or a solution to a complex problem. Yet it also embarrasses me. It's clumsy; it malfunctions with names and simple tasks.

With names I am like a five-year-old trying to master addition. I seldom have trouble with faces. I can generally remember the emotional setting of a contact and the person's role and attitude. But in trying to recall the names of even close friends, my brain at times shorts out.

I once felt guilty because of the theory that those who don't remember names don't care about people. I gained a bit of comfort when I read an article attacking that idea, but I was even more comforted by incontrovertible proof that the theory is muddle-headed: twice now I have literally forgotten my own name. You without this weakness may think I jest, but for at least two seconds my brain impulses detoured, and I simply couldn't remember "Harold Myra." Knowing my strong interest in myself, that devastated ...

April
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