Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I can’t find my black shoes or a receipt necessary for reimbursement or my running sweats or my sun glasses. I also lost my purse twice this week—my cell phone has become a homing beacon. Misplacing any one of these things isn’t a big deal, but misplacing them all within a few days is completely out of character.
I’m a finder, not a loser. I usually have a mental picture of everything in the house. The running joke between my husband and me is based on the number of seconds it takes me to find something he’s searched everywhere for.
Thank goodness he’s out of town; unable to witness my mental confusion—he would possibly find it humorous, whereas me…not so much. And really, everyone knows that humor is only humor when both parties find it so.
However, when M. expressed concern this a.m., because I was searching yet again for an item, I realized how much everyone counts on my predictability. What will they do when dementia hits? Not that I’m close, but it’s genetically inevitable—I figure if I embrace it now, I won’t be bummed later. Although, I don’t suppose I’d be bummed for long, because I wouldn’t remember why I was bummed...
Right now, I’m waiting for M. to finish Hip Hop class—I’ve planted myself near the dance room, so I won’t forget why I’m here. I also need to pull her out of class early, so we can see the end of A’s soccer game. It’s his 15th birthday today—I wrote it on my hand, just to be safe. We’re going to dinner at The Outback—if you don’t hear from me for a few days, I’ve inadvertently gone walk about.