Every time I mention one of those dreadful “Senior Moments” that seem to dog very day of my now rather ancient world, some well meaning, but clueless friend attempts to sooths me by smiling gently in my direction and saying,…”Don’t worry about it. I have those all the time and I’m only 59.”
Actually folks 59 or 120, the fact that you have senior moments too is of little or no comfort to me.
I don’t think I’ve missed any. The dash in to the kitchen. The sudden stop when I realize I have no idea why I’m there until I smell the burning eggs and toast that was supposed to be breakfast.
The lost keys that I know I put on their hanger in the kitchen but which have mysteriously migrated to – who knows where.
I have, on too many occasions, jumped in to my car ready to go…but I can’t recall where I was headed. Oh wait. Ralph’s. But why? I went to Ralphs last night. So I head back to the house and get ready do the laundry. Which reminds me of why I was going to Ralph’s. I’m out of…something. Laundry soap. No. Fabric softener. Nope. Sock clips…Nope. Bought those last week.
Got it. I want to wear the red dress tomorrow and I have to wash it in especially gentle soap and cold water because it runs and I have to wash it separately.
Back to the car. Didn’t bring the keys. And I forgot that I gave the red dress to the local thrift shop on Thursday
You getting the idea?
I have tried many times to “get organized.” I have had serious conversations with me about it. I have bought books and magazines that assure me that getting organized is really child’s play And FUN!
Those people lie. ORGANIZING ONES SELF IS NO FUN AT ALL!
You know those heavy duty magnetized notebooks people hang on the fridge? I have three of them…all with pens attached.. One is for everyday shopping, one for appointments – social, medical, whatever. And the third one…wait. What? It’ll come to me.
The thing is, that in order for those to do You any good at all, you are required to read thEm. Not just occasionally, but every freaking day.
Take last week for example. I forgot to check the social notebook, and a former friend gave up on me just because I forgot to meet her at Monty’s for Happy Hour. Incidentally, I think she ought to thank me – a lot. She got happy with a really nice guy she met while waiting for me.
And now to the newest and probably most annoying of Senior Moments.
Did I or did I not take the morning pills…or,for that matter, the pills from the night before? It isn’t that the pills are not organized. They rest snuggly in their brightly colored plastic cases, all neatly labeled by day and, if necessary, time limitations.
You know about time limitations on medicines…take this one two hours before or six hours after eating, Which, of course brings you into direct conflict with the pink one which has to be taken six hours before or two hours after…or something like that. Come on world…most of us are assigned fifteen pills a day, each with its own rules.
I swear to you. I take all of those damned pills every day. I am more faithful than Big Ben in my dedication to the tyranny of the pill box. And yet…and yet…too many days those little square containers are refilling themselves and it is left to me to figure out should I take a chance on over or under dosing by taking them again?
“It is”, as the King of Siam once said, “A PUZZLEMENT.”