There Goes My Memory

​I’m a few months shy of turning 36. I ponder on the fact that I am going to be closer to 40 than 30 and I wonder when it was I left my twenties. I wonder when will I ever feel like I am grown up.

I wonder if suddenly finding amusement in every single aspect of aging is considered a mid-life crisis, because if it is, I am knee deep in one. Last night I woke up abruptly from a disturbing dream. I was dreaming that I was at the grocery and I forgot my list. I say the dream was disturbing because it I woke up just as I would for an actual nightmare, heart racing and with the desire to jump out of bed. Apparently what I’m afraid of now includes shopping without my grocery list. That’s seems to be my life right now, forgetfulness. I can’t keep anything straight unless I write it down. I double book my schedule often because I can’t remember what is scribbled on my “reminder pad”, I use that term loosely because it can turn into the kid’s doodle pad at any given moment. A calendar seems like a great idea! I have a dry erase calendar on my fridge and another calendar that’s keeping track of my bills but it’s keeping track of nothing else of importance, like let’s say, ummmmm appointments, birthdays, or anniversaries! So forget getting a card of any sort from me until I remember the month is almost over and I forgot to check my, no, not calendar, card holder. Oh dear……

The more I try to become more organized the worse it becomes. I will seriously “organize” my house only to forget what genius place I put my things. The only thing I can seem to find is my dry erase calendar with nothing on it. I think it’s because I have to make room in my head for where everyone else’s stuff is located. For example, the other day my daughter was going nuts because she wanted to sleep with her Rapunzel doll. Yes, I knew where where that doll was but I can’t make it to my son’s field trip because I just scheduled my daughter’s dentist appointment on the same day. 
Yes, appointments can be rescheduled but thinking twice about anything these days scares me since I have no idea what I am doing in the first place. I blame my rheumatoid arthritis and fibrommyalgia. Explaining to people I have “fibro fog” seems to spark some recognition in them because it was most likely a part of a drug commercial promising a miracle cure for fibrommyalgia pain. Those commercials are a joke and quite annoying to someone like me. A woman living in a world of gray is suddenly able to fly a kite and laugh with her family after taking a magic pill. I think they’d be better off if they’d just sell me directions to the junk I just organized, that would make me happy. 

Happiness takes on a whole new meaning as I get older. I’m happy if I really do get to the grocery with all my coupons and a list in my hand on a day I didn’t forget to do something else, but that’s just a dream, we all know that list is sitting on my kitchen counter. 
*d*

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