I can tell you my first driver’s license number, many of my former and current credit card numbers, the name of my first crush in elementary school, and the secret recipe for our family’s favorite pancakes. That information, encoded long ago, can come to mind with ease. But when I get myself ready to walk out the door to run errands, I’ll find myself standing in a room not knowing what I came in there to do or, once in the car, realizing I left the overdue library books sitting next to the front door. This is my working memory playing tricks on me.
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