C.R.S. Disease

Photo by jonnnnnn

I sat in the meeting not long ago, preparing to share the information I had gathered over the past few months. This was my first moment in front of the CEO, and I was ready to impress him. After about three hours, he finally turned to me and asked me a question about my information. And I sat there, feeling my eyes getting big like Lucy when Ricky tells her she has a lot of ‘splainin to do.

My brain had turned to Teflon®, and all of my fascinating facts slid right off like that fried egg on the commercial. The spotlight was on me, and I had nothing to offer but a look of frozen fear. If a hunter had been in the room he would have taken aim (no comments about the rack, please).

There’s a hilarious twitter site and a not so funny new television show called $#*! my Dad Says; and I envy the Dad because I can’t remember $#*! Each day I have to allow 15 extra minutes so that I can go to my car, sit down, turn on the motor, then realize my phone is missing, go back in the house, look for the phone, decide it must be in my briefcase in the car, go back to the car, forget what I’m looking for, pull away from the house, and then one block away realize that I was looking for my phone.

It’s not quite as bad as the day that I left my son on top of my car, however, and I was only 25 years-old when that happened. Sleep deprived like all young moms, Jacob was in his “love bucket” as I was getting into my Ford Tempo. I set him on top of the car so I could open my car door.

I proceeded to open the door, sit in my seat, shut the door, buckle up and start my engine. I noticed people waving violently in my direction, and suddenly realized my six-week-old son was soon going to be my hood ornament. I jumped out of the car as if I had intended to leave him on the hood the whole time. Once I buckled him in I tried to find the government office where I could turn in my motherhood certification.

So, maybe my memory has never been that good. I did have five concussions before the age of nine, and if pro quarterbacks can use that as an excuse, then so can I.
Not long ago a friend of mine introduced to me a nice-looking gentleman that she knew when we were in high school. I said hello to him, and once he walked away I looked at her and said, “He was nice. Did you date him?” She looked at me with a slight smile which quickly faded. “No,” she replied. “You did.”

I wish I could purchase a memory stick and download the less important memories to free up my 50 year old brain for the important stuff. Then I could plug it back in only when I need that information. I think that would help. . . wait a minute, what was I talking about?