They say as you age, your memory is one of the first things to take a hit. While I’m still trying to burnish into my brain that wrinkles are, indeed, a natural part of existence, I’m welcoming in senior moments in full stride. Albeit premature, I feel compelled to document my freeze moments should anything (signal early-onset dementia) come to the surface years later.
Scene1 : At work, on a very important conference call (aren’t they all?), waiting for the rest of the folks to join. They don’t. I’ve sent out the wrong number. I attribute this to recent dyslexia of the numbers. I resend out an email to frustrated participants. It’s wrong. Even worse? I send them to a scandalous hotline.
Scene 2: Running with my father by the oceanside. We’ve been talking for about twenty minutes or so about life. I interject the silence with, “Oh, you should have heard what so and so said to my parents last night!” Except it isn’t my husband I’m running with, it’s still my dad.
Scene 3: I’m emailing the “round 3” movers to come back to our house and move everything from upstairs back down again. They need a contact number. I give them my cell. For a backup, I give them Bryan’s cell. Except it wasn’t, it was my SS#.
Scene 4: I am submitting my time sheet to HR because it’s the 15th. The next day, I write 6 checks to contractors who have been awaiting payment for the 16th. You guessed it, it was actually three days earlier. Now I am a nut & someone who robs their contractors of payday.
I forget the rest…