not even thirty
yet my memory is shot
I blame the wee one
Ever since I had a child I haven’t been able to remember anything. I walk into rooms, get in the car, peer into the fridge, take a weekend trip, and then moments later have no idea why I’m doing what I’m doing.
When I have to conduct adult conversations it’s even worse. After spending weeks upon weeks of watching Elmo and discussing the merits of NOT throwing macaroni on the wall, to find yourself thrust into a conversation with a former co-worker – or worse – thrust into an actual business meeting – is nothing short of terrifying.
Intelligent words and the ability to transistion thoughts must have seeped out with all of my breat milk. My conversations are as if Ah-nuld and a not very smart robot have taken over my brain.
“Uh,” I say. “Nice to, uh, [what’s the word? what’s the word? Not ‘greet’ not ‘seat’ not ‘pee’] MEET you.”
Really. It’s that bad.
Anyway, now that I’m here in Dallas, I can relax about intelligent conversations or anything of the like. I’m just gonna chill, watch some olympics, make sure the wee one doesn’t try riding any of the dogs like horses, and that’s that.
Of course, I’m going to be ugly, smelly and poor while I’m doing it. Why? Because I forgot just about eveything you need on a weekend trip.
Toothbrush? In Austin.
Wallet? In Austin.
Cell phone? In Austin.
Toiletries? In Austin.
Diapers? In Austin.
Brain? In Austin. At least whatever’s left of it.