Monday, October 4, 2010

Atrophy

Atrophy: n. A wasting away from lack of use.

My to-do list goes something like this today:

  1. exercise with my cartoon Wii trainer check
  2. shower since I didn’t yesterday and after exercising it would be really gross to take Gavin to the neighbor’s without a shower first! check
  3. put a bra on because I didn’t yesterday and while it’s a free and liberating feeling I should really put a bra on today! check
  4. do start laundry
  5. think about folding and putting the laundry away before next week
  6. keep the kids alive and happy

I think there may be more on my list but I don’t remember.  See, that’s the problem.  My memory is going.  My worst fear in life is that I will develop a mental illness.  I want to believe that agoraphobia doesn’t count.  My beliefs may or may not be true. 

The first signs of Alzheimer’s are showing up more and more often.  I may be institutionalized in the next 10 years slowly dying as I rock back and forth while staring at the wall muttering buh buh buh buh buh.  You roll your eyes but it’s true.  I think.  I have trouble remembering. 

See, I’m the kind of person who can feel Mother Nature calling, walk into the bathroom, completely forget what I’m doing in there and start cleaning it instead.  I’ll pee hours later.  Thank heavens for my bladder of steel right?  I have to put reminders on my email or I will forget important things.  Verbal agreements over the phone are almost guaranteed to be forgotten.

The sad part of all of this is that I used to remember everything.  For real.  It became quite a burden to constantly replay things over and over in my mind.  Then I rediscovered writing.  I write it all down so I can free up space in my mind.  Unfortunately my mind has atrophied beyond my wildest dreams.

Imagine if you will this very true story.

Heath:  If you get a minute can you get me a Diet Coke?
Me:  Sure. 

I got up to do it right away because I knew if I waited I would forget.  I walked into the kitchen and pulled out the six pack of Diet Coke bottles.  I pulled one out of the annoying plastic ring for Heath.  Then, apparently, I walked away. 

Who knows what happened to break my concentration.  About 45 minutes later Heath walked into the kitchen to get the Diet Coke for himself since I had not done it yet.  On the counter were five Diet Coke bottles together with the plastic ring holder.  One lonely Diet Coke bottle stood inches away from its friends. 

Heath laughed.  I walked in to see what was so funny and I laughed too.  Then I thanked him profusely for not getting mad at me for being such a flaky ditz all the time.  He laughed harder.  So did I. 

There is no picture because we forgot.  But it would have made a good one. 

I may get one of those brain teaser games for my birthday.  If I remember to ask for it. 

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