Time to blog again, I tell myself.
Writing should be a practice, like yoga or fine art painting.
You lay the brush down too long, you find you can’t fill the canvas any longer. And if you try, all you get is a waste of time and paint.
You leave that yoga met too long, when you return, you find the only pose you can now execute with any level of accuracy is the Child Pose.
My mind has been a scattered mess lately. After months of dealing with an ongoing crisis (great blog material, but not quite yet) I turned the corner. Winter was harsh, even by Florida standards, but Spring has arrived. Blue skies. Sunshine.
Work brain, work!
In the past week I managed to lose my keys in a relatively small space, inside my own office. I did not locate them until the next day–in my gym bag. It should have been the first place I looked.
I have managed to send several incomplete messages via email, when instead I thought I had deleted them without pushing Send. So, this necessitates yet anther message to explain to the other person, “oops. What I was trying to say, meant to say, hoped to say…”
Friends laugh when this happens, but at least one of the messages went to someone I was hoping to impress. Then the conundrum, should I send an additional follow-up message? It makes me think of the scene in the movie Swingers when Jon Favreau can’t leave well enough alone and keeps calling a girl he wants to take out, leaving one message after the other on her answering machine; each message more rambling and pathetic than the one before until, finally, the woman picks up the phone and says, “Never call me again”
I spent pretty much all of last week confused about which day of the week it was. I actually had a moment on Friday when I was certain it was Monday. At least when reality hit me, it was a nice surprise.
I have not been certain what month we are in for the entire first quarter of 2014. This situation is exacerbated by the fact that I have a three month calendar hanging on my office wall. The prior month is on top, in the middle it is the current month, and then at the bottom is the month ahead. This is great for planning ahead and/or reminding yourself what day of the week a certain date fell on last month. But if March 31st has passed and you don’t bother to turn the page, you find yourself–well, not you specifically “you”, it might be better to say “one finds oneself ,”continually scanning the month in the middle because, hey, that is the current month according to the way this particular calendar is supposed to work. I finally turned the page on Thursday (or maybe it was Wednesday) but I still thought Friday was Monday. (But it totally wasn’t! Yay!)
I refuse to embrace the phrase,”senior moment” to explain my scatterbrained moments and lapses of memory. Nor will I use “brain fart” as an excuse for a memory loss. I am sure this is TMI, but I am now at an age when actual flatulence from the usual place is inexplicably on the rise (now no one will let me ride in their car with them again, I just know it) so I don’t need any additional places wherein or from which I “fart.”
A friend of mine recently shared a news story that lifted the spirits of all of her friends of a certain age. German researchers determined that as people get older, they don’t really lose cognitive abilities. The problem is, they know more. There is simply too much information in their brains, so it takes a little longer to sort through it all.
Which explains why I will find myself recalling some long forgotten event from my very distant past–something I had totally forgotten about until that moment. My brain is too full and all of those thoughts are elbowing each other for space, so sometimes memories come unbidden to the surface without any prompting from me. And sometimes all of the concentrating in the world will not access the name of the person standing in front of me.
My cache is busting at the seams. I may have too many cookies too, but…mmmmm, cookies…
In my house, when one of us finds himself frustrated over something forgotten, making him feel old, we break into our On Golden Pond routine:
Norman: I got to the end of our lane and I couldn’t remember where I was…
Ethel: You old poop. Listen to the loons!
For the record, I usually do the Katherine Hepburn part and I’m not half bad, if I do say so myself. My partner’s Henry Fonda isn’t half bad either. Which is surprising because most of his imitations sound like he is speaking in a parody of a Jewish accent crossed with an Italian accent, even when he is trying to ape a French accent.
Which brings me back to blogging. Since I can’t actually reboot my brain, perhaps some exercise will help. Soduko? Crossword puzzles? No, writing is definitely the best exercise for my brain. So, a return to regular blogging is a marvelous start.
Assuming I can remember my WordPress password…