Swear Jar 

I have begun to lose my short-term memory. When there are things that come up, I feel I should remember in the future, I open an empty tin of coffee and speak my thoughts into it as my baritone vocal cords ever so slightly vibrate the tin in my hands, for which I grip tightly. Once I speak all my current and savable thoughts and they are collected and stored away in the old coffee tin, I close it with the plastic lid and put it away until I need to pluck on the strings of my memory for something of need. Life has become strange these days, well, as far as I can remember them anyways.