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2006-08-10 - 3:08 p.m.

Can’t Remember Shit

I’ve lost my memory, and damned if I know where I put it.

Last night, while fidgeting around in bed trying to get comfortable and get to sleep, I had a bunbuster brain fart of an idea for an entry for today’s BowWow. Wore out the bed sheets, traveled a 1,000 miles, finally went to sleep and woke up this morning trying my damnest to remember what my idea was. Turns out my bunbuster was little more than a squeaker toot!

Most of the morning, sandwiched between some organizing chores at work, I tried to worry the idea out of the lost pile at the bottom of the canyon that used to be my memory—it must be a lot like the Grand Canyon, because I can’t see the bottom of that deserted hole anymore. And most times, when I’m looking down into the canyon, I don’t remember what the hell I’m even looking for.

Blame it on a lack of zinc. The University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston has. Or maybe my diet doesn’t include enough fish. I don’t think it’s early onset Alzheimer’s--I haven’t forgotten where I live (yet), I can always (so far) find my car in a parking lot, and I haven’t (yet) forgotten to report to work in the mornings. Maybe I just need to add more B vitamins to my morning vitamin ritual.

Where was I going with this?

Oh, yeah, okay. The lost idea.

When I finally realized I was not going to retrieve my journal idea I went to one of those journal prompt sites for inspiration and found hundreds of ideas. That was heartening and a sure ego boost: most ideas are based on things past! I can’t remember something from last night, and I’m supposed to write about my favorite activity between the ages of five and 10? (Actually, that’s an easy one: Play. Play outside. Play outside with my best dog friend or Dad).

Just so you get the idea:

Describe a typical day in elementary school: I remember going to elementary school. I attended Washington Elementary, where I vividly remember being so frightened of my kindergarten teacher that one day I was afraid to raise my hand (after bathroom break) to let her know I needed to “go number one” so I wet my britches in the classroom.

Describe a trip downtown as a youngster: Zip. Zero. Nada. I know I went downtown. Who didn’t as a kid? We went to Pete’s Candyland. But remember it? You gotta be kidding!

Describe a 'sound' from your childhood. What was it? When did you hear it? What does it bring to mind? Forget it.

Who were some of my "school friends"? That should be an easy one; my class reunion was held in July. I was busy elsewhere and didn’t attend, but I was sent individual and group photos. My first response: “Who the hell are those people?”

My memory loss isn’t selective; I don’t just forget ideas and information. Although, I do have a real problem with getting up to go do something and once I’m up and in route I wonder where I’m going and just what the hell it was I was going to do. No, my forgetfulness is equal opportunity. I forget everything! Because I’m always losing them, I have two pair of glasses. Those times I forget where both pair are can be frustrating…and blurry. At work, my secretary spends much of her time returning my coffee cup which I’ve walked off and forgotten on her desk. If I’ve left it somewhere other than her desk (which happens two or three times a day), I’m in deep shit; it takes me forever to find it. First, I have to remember where I’ve been so I can backtrack.

I’ve tried to compensate for my forgetfulness. I make lists. My lists are never where I am; I forget and leave them somewhere else. A trip to Wal-Mart is a trip to hell without my list! (A trip to Wal-Mart is a trip to hell anytime, list or no list!!) I make lists of things I need to do, then see those lists later, wonder what they are and throw them away.

Whenever I’ve forgotten where I’ve put something the first place I look is the refrigerator. This comes from a long ago incident when I put Scrappy the kitty in the refrigerator, where my “very upset” mother found him—hours later--shivering on her apple pie. I know this because my dear, sainted Mother doesn’t let me forget it. Come to think of it, many of the childhood memories I do recall with some clarity are ones my dear, sainted Mother won’t let me forget!

Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food.--Austin O'Malley

I’m a crazy woman who never throws away food, maybe that’s the root of my memory problems.

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