Not that anyone is following my blog that closely, but I haven’t made a new post in 3 weeks. I’m suffering from writer’s block. And I stress about it which makes it worse. Zero ideas to write about. Zero enthusiasm. Zero motivation to work through it. I was going to write about my new red shoes and relate it to the myriad of songs out there about red shoes. I had notes. I had pictures. I had shoes. I had no peanut butter. You know, the stuff in a story that can bind things together and make it cohesive. I suppose there is an argument in there for super glue but I’m hungry and I like the idea of peanut butter better. Okay, so save this brilliant idea for another day….
So tonight I’m opening the refrigerator for at least the twelfth time, because remember, I’m hungry and what do I find in there? Allergy pills. Pink allergy pills. A generic version of Benadryl. Earlier in the day, I gave my dog half a pink allergy pill. Did you know you can do that? Don’t quote me on this, but there are people things you can give dogs to make them better. A little investigative time spent on the internet and poof! Fewer vet bills.
Anyway… getting back to my story, why were the pills in the refrigerator? Brain fart. That’s the only explanation. Has this ever happened to you? I’m sure it has, whether you want to admit it or not is not my call, but I rather like my brain fart moments, those times when you say, “What the heck, how did that happen?” I remember the time I was looking for my purse and I found it in the dryer. Or the time when I drove all the way down to my office only to realize where I really wanted to go was the store. Once in a moment of sheer absent-mindedness, I stored a head of lettuce in the dishwasher.
I think it’s fascinating and a bit scary how our mind works sometimes. One minute we can be recounting every teacher we had since kindergarten and the next we are trying to remember what we had for lunch. Yesterday, I received a message where someone left me their phone number. I didn’t bother to write it down since I was sure I could remember it from the short time in which I listened to the message, hung up the phone and began to dial… 541-555-4873… 555-4873… 555-487 uh 3? 555-4783? Less than one minute later I dialed the wrong number. Damn! This is stupid. This is frustrating. This is aging.
I don’t want to admit it, but I’m A-G-I-N-G. Bleh. I’m trying not to. I lost weight and I watch my diet and I do logic puzzles and crosswords but there is no denying it. The old lightbulb just isn’t burning as bright as it once was. It’s a fact. I’m fifty-two trying to be thirty-two with a mind that frequently makes me feel like I’m eighty-two.
What else can I do about it? I guess I could stretch my mind and take more community college classes, or stock up on the herbal remedies that are good for memory loss like ginko biloba. Perhaps I could volunteer to be a guinea pig in the next ground breaking scientific study on memory loss and aging.
What I really want to do is eat something. I’m still hungry. I think I’ll go raid my dishwasher and make myself a salad.