It happens to everybody. If it doesn’t, please lie to me and say it does. I better say what it is before I forget because that is it. Memory loss.
Let’s start at the very beginning, shall we? Most people have a few vague memories of things that happened in and before Kindergarten age. As we get older, we remember more and more.
Like my boys who are ages and seven and almost ten. They remember all the good stuff. Such as when we still lived in a townhome and I said they could trash the new house when we finally buy one of our own but in the meantime to stop roughhousing and destroying the rental. That comment has come back to bite me in the ass too many times to count and we’ve only lived in the new house since May. Don’t even get me started on Saturday morning when the boys woke me up with big bulging eyes and excitement in their voices speaking over each other to say, “Daddy, wake up and come see what we did with Play-Doh!”
What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, and then on a school morning, I can make the kids breakfast and ask them to finish eating, brush their teeth, get dressed and pack up their stuff for school all while I’m showering and getting ready for work. “Okay Daddy.” Twenty minutes later I come downstairs and they are both lounging on the couch drooling in a stupor while still in their whitey tighties watching cartoons. “What are you guys doing? We have to leave in five minutes! Get your fuhhhhhhh, get your butts in gear! Why didn’t you do what I asked?” In a beautiful show of brotherhood solidarity, for the first time in 48 hours they will be completely on the same page with one another and say, “We forgot.”
People tend to remember what they want to remember. Even with great intentions, sometimes this gets compromised. I want to remember the names of the people I just met two seconds ago, but I’m too busy judging them to recall details like that.
All of this is perfectly normal. The thing is, even when I didn’t really care to remember certain things, if I really put my mind to it, I could come through. But then at some point it all changes.
Nowadays, at the ripe age of 45, those days are over. I remember lots. I forget lots. Hopefully the stuff I forget isn’t all that important and my subconscious is doing a little triage for my overtaxed brain as a favor to myself. Thanks self!
I’m not talking about spending a half hour looking for sunglasses that were on your head or keys that were in your pocket the whole time. That is just idiocy. I’m talking about walking into a room for a specific purpose and in the five seconds it took to get there you have no idea why you are there.
Or like last week when I took my boys out to dinner because we had no groceries and I figured we’d stop at the store on the way home. Sometime around 11p with my boys sound asleep in bed and me watching TV with one eye open while dozing on the couch, I got a text from a friend. The message mentioned food. That is when it dawned on me that I forgot to stop at the store. No milk for breakfast. No fruit. Nothing to make for lunch. My kids aren’t old enough to leave alone at home. Would it be okay just to give them a Monster and pat them on the ass as they run off to school?
The other day I couldn’t remember the word ‘hacked.’ I was laughing that one of my friend’s Facebook account was, well; hacked. But I couldn’t remember that word so I struggled with my comment.
“Haha, looks like somebody, um, snuck on your laptop while your Facebook was open….” Delete. “Haha, you were robbed!” Delete. “Haha, you got…..” Delete. Thinking, thinking. “Haha, looks like you got impostered…” That’s not even a fucking word! Delete. “Heh…” Delete. “Haha, looks like you…. are, FUCK” Delete. “Haha , you got axed!!” Delete. That felt close.
Maybe I should try Google. So I typed into Google search, “When somebody breaks into your computer.” All that did was correct me to search for “When SOMEONE breaks into your computer.” Fuck off Google! So I gave up.
An hour later at lunch, I slammed down my sandwich and with a mouthful of roast beef yelled, “Hacked!!” The grin on my face enhanced my crazy eyes and scared a few small children. Is it wrong for a grown man sitting by himself to scream out “hacked” while spraying sourdough bread crumbs from his mouth as he body slams his sandwich?
Somehow I am able to be a single father, own a business, have a social life and for the most part, keep my shit together. The funny thing is, all my little mind farts and memory lapses sound completely normal based on similar escapades by friends. Is this true? Am I really not going crazy?
PS - Little kids at the lunch place that saw the “hacked” episode, please don’t answer that last question.
PPS – Thanks to Rich for getting me bread, milk and blueberries on his own accord that night. That made our morning much easier!
PPS - Please come by this week to pick up my grocery list for next week.