forgetting

F-L-A-K-E Part II

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Okay, now I’m starting to get a little worried.

Sign #1:  This morning I performed my normal routine.  I got my lunch out of the freezer, my breakfast out of the cupboard, and my yogurt out of the fridge.    I put everything on the table and retrieved my bag.  Before I loaded my falling-apart-but-I-refuse-to-get-rid-of-it-because-I-got-it-from-the-Art-Institute-and-it-makes-me-feel-pretentious bag, I went into the living room and opened the curtains.  Even if nobody was going to be home all day, the house still needed sunshine.  I went back into the kitchen and stuffed everything in my bag and left.  When I arrived at work, I emptied the contents from my bag and discovered I was yogurtless.  Despite getting the yogurt out and putting it RIGHT NEXT to my bag, I still forgot it!  (sigh)

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F L A K… What Was I Doing, Again?

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I have become a flake in my older age.  This little fact bothers me because I didn’t used to be one.  In fact, it was a matter of pride which could lead someone to point out perhaps that’s the reason why I’ve been humbled.  But we’ll leave that for a discussion to be filed in the “Never Gonna Happen” file.  I never needed to write anything down as long as I was focused on something when it was told to me or shown to me, I remembered it.  Darn near forever.  Sometimes I wished I could forget.  Even though I used to carry a planner around it was empty.  I guess I just thought the nerd look worked for me.

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