For the past several days I have been attempting to memorize eight short lines of a reading I’m using for a speech tomorrow night. I don’t have to memorize it, in fact, I may decide to read it and it will still have the same dramatic impact. But for some unknown reason, I’ve been trying to memorize it.
Truthfully, I know why……. I am suffering from a bad case of “can’t remember diddly” and it’s starting to bother me. In commiserating with other women my age, I realize I’m not alone, but I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and invite my memory back for an encore performance. To do that, I’m practicing the lost art of using my brain to remember. I blame technology but I’ll save that rant for another post.
The irony is that my memory is quite selective. I can remember the name of every flower in my gardens. I can tell you where I purchased every pair of shoes in my closet as well as what you were wearing the last time we saw each other or what you ordered the last time we had lunch. But I can’t remember to take the Velcro roller out of my bangs before I leave the house, or that I placed my Pepsi on the roof of my car while I fumbled for my keys.
My husband remembers different things. He could probably tell you who played in every Superbowl. I know for a fact (because he constantly reminds me) that he remembers the dates we purchased every vehicle (and how much they cost), the gas mileage on our last major road trip, as well as our annual salaries in 1984. But he can’t remember that it irritates me when he takes the toilet tissue off the roller and sits it on the counter.
There was a point to this post……. But now …. I don’t remember.