Why Is The T.V. Remote In My Purse?

There are two forms of absentmindedness that begin to occur during this decade. 

'Senior Moments' - when you draw a full blank when attempting to remember people, places or things. In the family room staring down the hallway at my nephew. "Come here (frantically beckoning him).....you." Pause.  "You know your name...". 

'If I have this, Where is that?' - the hilarious game in which you pick up one thing (say, the garbage) when you meant to leave the house with something else (say, your purse). 

It starts out pretty small and insignificant. You walk into your bedroom because you forgot your sunglasses. You walk out of your bedroom with the Costco sized moisturizer in your hand. You walk into your office looking for a file. Stand in the middle of the room staring blankly at nothing for a moment. Ah HA! Pick up the stapler and proudly stroll out of the room.

Remember the way you would tease your parents about being old and forgetful? Mocking them about not being able to find their glasses while they were visibly on top of their heads? Wondering why they gave you a comb when you asked for a soda? And both came from the refrigerator?

As someone who was a spelling bee champion, as someone who could remember multi-pages of script overnight during her fledgling acting days, as someone who prided themselves on being a storehouse of useless knowledge (what is the home planet of Luke Skywalker? The Godfather. All of them.) and therefore much desired at Trivial Pursuit parties, this whole experience is quite....mortifying. yucky. F'd up. 

Yes, I should be more concerned that this might be a medical issue and not a matter of bruised pride. And at first, I was. Started eating more carrots. They are supposedly good for memory. What's up doc and all that. Started exercising more. The rush of endorphins are suppose to keep your body and mind active, aware. In addition to achy, breathless and tired. Started doing brain puzzles - in a little worn out paperback book, fumbling with the Rubik's cube, choking on the Sunday NY Times crossword (damn near killed me), wherever, whenever. By all appearances, you would have thought I was a freaking genius. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be working as instantly as I willed it. Still forgetful. Still blank. I obviously had a brain tumor. 

So, I went to my much put upon, extremely kind, scarily patient doctor. The one who was attempting to survive my forties with me. With a straight face, I asked for a brain scan. He released a deep sigh. Gave me a very patient smile, a gentle double pat on my upper arm and said, "Relax. This is all part of the process." 

Well, that's certainly reassuring. 

Have to admit, my 'brain freezes' do come in handy during certain times. Running into an old booty call who I couldn't stomach in the light of day...that boring barfly who attempts to regale me with stories of her swinging '60's life while I hang out with my friends....going to the corner store for garbage bags but walking out with cookie dough? Priceless. 

During a mid-day shopping expedition (I do conveniently remember where the shoe stores are located) with a friend who is also living this decade to the best of her ability, we started to discuss a really popular movie that we liked. Could not place the name of  the super important most desired actor that appeared in it. Snapping our fingers, hitting each other...arrrggghhhhh. "I can see his face but can't think of his name". We shrugged. It would come back to us in time. And when it did, I called her. At 4:00. In the morning. 

As long as I can still remember the important things - my nephew's birthday, when my TV show 'the real housewives of grab your hair throw a drink in your face' comes on, how to insert a tampon, the best way to make a cold martini (shake it baby not stir)...I'm good. I figure the crap I can't remember isn't that important anyway. Or at least, not today. 

xo,

Fabulously Fourty(ish)