Better yet, I should have an entire table of sensory sleep data, though cataloguing sensory information experienced during waking hours may be more colorful.
Sensory Line
Date: 14 Feb 95
Sights: plastic paisley tablecloth
Sounds: crêpe sizzling on a grill
Tastes: Grand Marnier, zovirax
Textures & Temperatures: wool against chafed skin, damp cold
Smells: the burnt rubber of metro brakes
1 Jan 95
snowflakes on the balcony
damp laundry on the rack in the living room
France Info jingle announcing the news
chaussons de pomme, German coffee
overheated downy comforter against sweaty skin
coffee, clean pages of a new book, cigarette out in the hallway
22 Sep 93
red light on the answering machine in the dark room
snoring, elevator’s occasional clanking ascent in the hallway
water, vague aftertaste resembling memories of forgotten flavors
misty, dark cold; thin, rough sheet
gas, dust, a freshly laundered pillow case
15 Sep 93
milk, mustard and two apples in the empty, white refrigerator
furniture marks on a bare carpet
Dan whispering into the telephone; neighbors playing Chinese then Mexican pop music
lemon cake and coffee, Dan’s haircolor dye
sunburn under cold water in the slippery bathtub
carpet shampoo, Dan’s clothes, dusty pages of an old book
15 April 92
bright white and pink buildings; boats and blue sky in the distance, down the hill
cable car bells, footsteps on hardwood floors, a telephone’s bell echoing against the empty apartment walls
Fakin’ Bacon, Calistoga, sweet salt in Dan’s sweat
Dan’s skin against mine under a stiff new sheet, goose bumps in the wind, face warmed by the sun
new futon, ocean air, stale clothes and papers unpacked from suitcases
14 Feb 92
foggy lights on Tower Bridge, grey buildings with unswept floors, men with bent ears and noses
security alert in the underground, my flatmate’s dog yapping at the television Muscadet, stale smoke, Theraflu
damp fog and cold cutting through coats and sweaters
burnt scones on the grill, greasy chips, cinnamon candles
12 Dec 90
roses on a black table, bare walls with seven coats of lumpy white paint, clothes hung on a pole over a desk stacked with paper
voice on the phone in the other room, old man next-door beating his wife, disco songs
slice of pizza, Bruce’s mouth and skin, Red Zinger tea
crisp cold, puffy warm coats in an overheated apartment, spine curving to match the mattress’ indentation
Fahrenheit cologne, steam heat, wet garbage in the street
13 March 88
smog against the Chicago skyline through tinted green windows
train screeching into Union Station
morning donut, Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultra Lights 100s, diesel exhaust
the movement of the train jerking my eyes from their place on the page
thick smoke, coffee, newspaper ink
15 June 79
the moon through the screen on my bedroom window, shadows of enormous midnight furniture
my father’s snoring, crickets, waves of cars passing
English muffin with butter
the humid summer, cut off by crisp air-conditioning, a thin robe against my skin
heavy summer pollen, banana on the kitchen table for tomorrow’s lunch
I don’t have access to the technology it would take to write these moments accurately, mapping the exact chemical equations that form each in my brain. The memory of a certain yellow banana, for example, must have a certain precise placement on a numerically coded color wheel, and its smell must have a certain invariable chemical formula. Its texture, temperature and sound (when it is dropped, peeled, squished, etc.) can all be measured with relative certainty using the latest scanners, radars, detectors, and so on. Science is only helpless in the taste column, though somewhat objective flavor ratings could be worked out through wide scale taste test surveys. Objectively, then, the strength of a given memory of a hypothetical banana could be described with an exponential power: (x to the y power = nostalgic banana to the sixth power = strong memory). In short, memories, once broken down into their smallest common denominators, are nothing but rigid chemical equations, cranked out repeatedly by nature, just as each of is no more than a bit of genetic code spliced together from the codes passed down from our ancestors.