Memory

So I have hit the age of 32.  Let me stop right there and give you a hint as to what this blog is about.  I had to text my mom and ask her how old I was.  My memory is Just. That. Bad.  

Years ago, I really thought my memory loss was abnormal and wanted to make sure I didn’t have a brain tumor or something crazy like that.  So I went to see my doctor.  This is how that conversation went:

Me: I think something is wrong.  I have the memory of a 86 year old Alzheimer's patient. 

Smirking Doctor: Really?

Me: Yes, I can’t remember anything.  

Smirking Doctor: Give me an example.  Like your name?  Or what year it is?

Me: No, like what I had for dinner last night. 

Smirking Doctor: Is it only short term stuff, or do you forget things that happened long ago?

Me: Ummm, I think a little of both. But my concern is short term.  Like what happened last week, or yesterday.

Smirking Doctor: Okay, I am going to ask you to remember three things.  **Side note, I can’t remember what those three things were, but I am giving you an example.** I want you to remember these three words: apple, cow, Thursday.

After giving me the three words, she continued to ask me other random questions.  She asked me who the President was, and what year it was, and asked about my family and what I was doing currently (job).  After ten minutes of chatting...

Smug Doctor: Okay, what were the three words I asked you to remember??

Me: Hugh?

Worried Doctor: I asked you to remember three words about ten minutes ago.  Do you remember what they were?

Me: Haha, just kidding.  Yeah, I remember...cat, dog, caterpillar.

Frightened Doctor: Darling, think really hard.  

Me: Man, you are too easy!!  Yes, let me think...apple, cow, Tuesday.     

Blood-draining-back-to-face Doctor: Okay, two out of three is passing.  So, I think you are okay.

Me: So no brain tumor?

Back-to-smirking Doctor: No, I think you are good.  Memory loss is just something that comes with age and the busyness of life.

Me: Can you write a note for my husband and say that it isn’t curable?  He keeps asking for dinner on the table and I keep forgetting, and I just want him to know that I really am forgetting and that it will never go away.

Laughing Doctor: Seriously?

Me: Seriously what, that I need the note or that I forget to put dinner on the table?  Wait, what are we talking about?  Just kidding, no, I guess I don’t need the note.

So I went home and told the Chief that there was nothing wrong with me.  He wasn’t convinced.  In the meantime, it has only gotten worse.  

Here is a text between me and Brunette BFF.

So here is the story.  I hop in the car to get a few errands run, simple right?  Let me remind you, very few things are simple for me.  So I hop in my handy jeep and set my navigation up to get me to Walmart.  Laugh all you want, I still don’t know my way around here.  So I am just about there before I realize I have left with my slippers on my feet.  These aren’t just any slippers.  These slippers can’t be passed off as kinda-shoes.  No, they are monkey slippers.  I’m wearing freaking monkey slippers.  There is no, “Hope no one will notice”.  Whatever.  At least I don’t know anyone here.  So I head into the Walmart, where I assume I will probably fit right in.  I think a total of three people commented on my slippers.  The sad part, and the reason for this blog, is after I am there for a good 20 minutes, I have forgotten that I am wearing slippers.  I am looking for my toothpaste in an isle, when a little girl from across the flippin‘ store, screeched, “Mommy!!  Lookie at her feet!!”  I look up to see where she is pointing, then quickly look behind me so that I can see the lady’s weird feet.  Then I realize I am the culprit.  OMG, I am going to end up in one of those stupid emails about the idiots that shop at Walmart.  I quickly snatch up my toothpaste and get away from the gleeful child, that might I add, isn’t even wearing stupid shoes.  I pay, and head out to the car.  As I am pushing my cart over to my vehicle, which takes me four minutes to find because of course I have forgotten where I parked it, I realize my parking lights are on in the back.  As I get closer I realize...I.  Left.  The.  Car.  Running.  Chief, I know gasoline doesn’t grow on trees.  What can I say, I am a lost cause.  Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I have made this mistake.  Here is the deal, the new cars don’t require keys to start them, well they require them to be with you...for me they are in the bottom of my purse.  So when I get in, I push a little button that gets me going, then when I am done, I push that same little button to stop the car.  Simple right?  Haha...are you getting the drift now?  At this point I threw up my hands, and unloaded my stuff and got in.  I immediately grabbed my phone which led to the Brunette BFF text.  Sometimes you just need to tell someone how you are losing your mind.  It makes everything feel a little more real.  Don’t worry, she sends me very similar texts.  We have the same problem.  We always joke about when we are old, and our husbands are gone, we are going to open up a Bed-N-Breakfast in Florida.  Then we always joke about how we will serve breakfast throughout the day because we will both have forgotten that we already served it.  

This is just one incidence.  I have put milk in the pantry, and cereal in the fridge.  I have put the Chief’s underwear in my drawer and his in mine.  Sadly, he caught the mistake before he put them on.  That would have been one AWESOME blog post.  I have eaten meal after meal because I have forgotten that I already ate, and on the other end, I have skipped meals because I have forgotten to eat.  These are very minor, but I am giving them to you because I have forgotten all the other big ones.  Hell, by them time I am done with this blog I will have forgotten I posted it.  So if you see another posting about my memory, you will know why.

This is my life.  I am forgetful.  I’m sorry Chief.  Sometimes I forget you have told me something and chances are you will have to repeat yourself.  You already know this though.  Oh, and by the way...I don’t really forget to put dinner on the table, I just simply don’t want to cook.  Love you, Babe.