My head is silent and there are no cohesive thoughts floating around that I am aware of now. Whether or not I am being fooled into complacency, I would rather doubt. I've heard authors talking about brain chatter that comes to them and won't stop until they unload it on paper. Instead, the quietness is a positive sign that I should be seeking time at the computer in the next day or so. Pages will flow out quickly without any interference from me, and perhaps, I will be surprised at the intricate detail that has been stored in my brain perfect for I don't know what — Could it be an essay, poem or short story? I am assured there's material. It is best to follow my heart and permit the vessel to unearth its own combination of wordy delights prearranged in bautiful sentences.
How odd I couldn’t remember the name of a gentleman down our road when I was in conversation with someone until a day later. Try as I might, nothing worked. By chance, I drove by his house and his name popped out. Why, I was elated. My pesky short term memory is a nuisance.
Same brain. Two different functions. They operate at will.