I’ve been having flashbacks — not of the LSD variety, but just as vivid. Ordinary revisits of scenes from a life, nothing particularly significant. In fact, notable only in their total lack of note. The flashbacks don’t seem to have anything to do with what’s going on around me, what I’m thinking about at the time, they’re not situational. They come on quickly and fade quickly, leaving an emotional residue, usually one of wistfulness, although many have been neutral. They occur most frequently when I’m bored at work, doing repetitive tasks. In writing, I’ve been taught never to rely on the flashback to move the story forward, but how can I not think that’s bad advice when it seems to happen so often in real life?

They disappear almost as quickly as they appear. I’m going to start keeping a journal — that makes three journals now — of them, and I’ll be back with a couple of the buggers soon. Hopefully with some insight into what’s causing them. Wikipedia

focuses on childhood abuse. Mine are garden-variety memories, no abuse here.