Forgetfulness and Other Diseases

Wow. Long time no blog. Sorry about that. My editor is too. I'm not quite used to having a blog yet, and I got caught up in the holidays and sort of, well, forgot. Memory is not one of my best things.

I used to have a memory, then I developed a brain with swiss cheese-like holes in it. My theory is that the memory was the first thing to start leaking out. The medication I take has memory loss as a side effect.

Which means that I pretty much forget everything, all the time. We live on post-it notes and dry erase boards at our house. There is one in every room and by every telephone, plus a Master Board of sorts on the refrigerator. If you want me to do it, it better be written down. If you don't write it down, you never said it. Even if you said it a dozen times, it just didn't happen if I can't see it in writing.

It's frustrating, but it is also a fact of life. It's easier to just learn how to cope than it is to fuss and fume and wish otherwise. I have one place, and one place only, that I always put my keys. They never go anywhere else. Therefore they never get lost and I never forget where I put them. If I put them somewhere else, my family puts them back where they go. My husband has one place for his keys and wallet. My son has one place for his backpack, and the hated belt he has to wear to school everyday.

It sounds organized and efficient, but what it really does is save a lot of fuss and bother. If I don't have one place for the important things, I will never remember where I put them. If I don't have one place to write down things for me to remember, I will never know where to look for important messages.

It started out as a necessity to keep us from killing each other and has evolved over the past five and a half years as a routine that saves a lot of grief and searching and "don't you remember that I told you about that?"

Because at my house, the answer is always No. I don't remember. Not even five or ten minutes later. It is frustrating, and I try to remember, and I wish I could remember, but there is just a black hole in there some where. Maybe all those jocks in high school that accused me of being an airhead, based on the fact that I was petite, perky and a natural blond, had it right all along after all. There may just be air in there. What is not in there is any sort of short term memory.

Since we've all settled down from the holidays now and have gotten back into some semblance of a routine, perhaps I'll do better with the blogging. SantaBaby (otherwise known the rest of the year as my husband) brought me a laptop for Christmas, so perhaps it will be easier now. It won't help the memory any, but it might make it more convenient. I'll try to do better. Maybe I'll write a note to myself. That usually works. Until I lose the note.