The woman down the hall is writing her memoir. She has been ever since she was a child. Every evening, beginning age five, Christmas Day, she has written a roughly one page, first person account of her day. She includes snaps of conversations, the minutia of day-to-day life, the arguments and resolutions. She writes down as much as she can remember because even then, even when she was still a child, she had notions of greatness and the acceptance that one day, she would not be able to remember things so clearly.