I have known for a while now that any new information I take in, bumps out old information. There is only so much space for useless knowledge and after the memory card is full the brain starts to delete stuff.
I can still play Name That Tune with any pop song from 1978 to 1984. That knowledge is still locked in there but names of teachers, classmates, co-workers, cousins have started to leak out. I have not been able to set the clock on a VCR for at least ten years but thankfully I don’t have any in the house anymore.
Some information is still there but it is covered by so much dust it is often hard to get at. This was made clear to me the other day when I was trying desperately to recall the tell tale signs of a serial killer. You know, the stuff they did as kids that were big red flags that unfortunately no one paid attention to.
I know that killing kittens is one of those red flags and I am pretty sure setting siblings on fire is another one. Fascination with taxidermy is also one if I am not mistaken.
I was trying to remember these signs when I came across a box in my daughter’s room.
Inside the box was at least twenty Ziploc bags of hair, yarn and feathers. She had thoughtfully marked each bag with a Sharpie but she can’t spell yet so I had no idea what she was trying to write.
The hair bags contained hair from her Barbies and other dolls whose hair she had cut off. I knew she had cut the hair and have since taken the scissors from her but I did not know she had saved the hair. The yarn bags each have a different color of yarn. All the yarn is cut into one inch pieces. I didn’t count how many pieces were in each bag however I know that I will not be finishing any knitting projects without going to the yarn store first. The feather bags were filled with feathers she had pulled out of her pillows.
Aside from worrying about her psyche I was irritated that she had wasted so many Ziploc bags. These babies are not cheap and I am always out of them when I need one so this not only explained why I am always running out of them it made me mad as well.
I threw all of the bags away.
“Where is my hair collection and my feather collection?” daughter demanded when she came home from school.
“I threw them all out.” I told her. “Why did you waste all my bags and why do you need to save fake hair from your Barbies? What on earth could you possibly do with that stuff.”
“I was going to make a stuffed animal out of it.” She said, like I should have known.
So is this the telltale sign of a future serial killer? Is her bizarre collection something I should tell a psychiatrist about? Is this how Jeffrey Dahmer got started?