You know that thing where you walk into a room all purposeful and brisk because you’re going in there to get something specific? And then you entirely forget what that specific thing is the moment you set foot in the room the ‘thing’ is in and you wander about aimlessly, hoping that by beating the bounds you will remember what it is you came in for?
Then you don’t remember. And you even try that thing your mum told you to do which is to go out and go back in again in the hope that this will do the trick, and it doesn’t. And then you look weird because you’re all ‘backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards, eh?’ And your children wonder if you’re secretly auditioning for Strictly and your husband just sighs and washes his hands of the whole affair, because he’s married to you and it’s too expensive to divorce you now.
That is my life at the moment.
I am making lists. It is the only way to get through this. The problem with the lists is that they only help with the things that are planned. Also, they only help if I can remember where I put them and remember to read them. I started putting various lists in my handbag last week in order to prompt me to read some of them when my hand plunged into my bag. It helped a bit, but when I cleaned my bag out at the weekend it looked like I’d been to a cut price wedding. It was all inky, DIY confetti all over the shop emblazoned with gnomic messages like; ‘Hair bands but not the elastic ones. Thin.’ etc.
I still haven’t got the hair bands.
The unplanned stuff is hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. People ring me and say stuff like; ‘When you’ve got a moment do you think you can do X or Y?’ and I totally can do X or Y and I agree enthusiastically, because despite my curmudgeonly persona I’m actually quite a helpful person. Then the moment passes and another moment passes and all thoughts of doing X or Y flee my brain like wildebeest running away from a lion and my memoryscape is just an empty dustbowl with fast disappearing hoof prints to show for it all.
And the words. OH MY GOD. I mean, I have always had those brain fart moments where the word I’m searching for is elusive and I end up doing elaborate mimes and over using the word ‘thingy’. I’ve always had that thing of knowing that the words ‘ironing board,’ are not the ones I’m looking for, but feeling compelled to say them anyway, despite the fact that what I actually want is a pair of needle nosed pliers, but DEAR HOLY CHEEZUS, it is just incessant at the moment.
In the last two days alone I have failed to find the words, ‘milkshake’, ‘fridge’, ‘basketball’ and a whole host of others that have entailed me flailing linguistically around getting more and more frustrated with my own ability to track down the slippery little suckers. I may just invest in a giant pointer so that I can gesticulate towards the things I am talking about. That and a set of surreal and random flash cards for the things I don’t have to hand to point at.
The fact is that the remembering part of my brain is just all slithery at the moment. It’s driving me mad. People talk about drinking to forget. I don’t need to do this. I need an Alice like potion that allows me to drink to remember.
Make it so.