Wednesday, November 3, 2010

What was I Going to Say? Bring Me a Fish.

Your Prude’s memory has a hole larger than the ozone layer.
She walks into a room with vigor and purpose, only to stand, musing, and wondering what the Sam Hill she is doing there.
She will begin a series of directives to her children and/or husband.
In the middle of said directives a portion of her brain will begin to debate on the merits of pork chops or hamburger casserole for supper.
And smack dab in the middle of THAT debate another corner of her mind will sign in and ask if she put a stamp on the bill to the energy company.
Be aware that all this is happening AS she is delivering her directives to her family member(s).
The result?
She trails off the directives before the end of the sentence because she has no idea what she was ordering them to do.
She can’t remember the result of the inner debate on what to cook and the family dines on frozen pizza that evening.
She only retains the vague sense of unease about the whole energy stamp issue and ends up striding purposefully from the room, leaving her family standing in confusion waiting for their marching orders while she stares at the walls of the office and wonders what the Sam Hill she is doing there.

The Prude would blame this on aging. She chooses not to. She has always been forgetful, so much so that as a child her mother would accuse her of not remembering from 12:00 to noon.

So several years ago The Prude rejoiced when she read that Omega 3 fatty acids, squeezed from fish and consolidated in capsules, could improve memory function. She immediately bought a huge jar.

She forgot to take the pills.

But even though she religiously, day after day, forgot them as they sat on her vitamin shelf, they remained a beacon of hope. Once she got herself in the habit of popping a few a day her memory would spring back to life, she was sure, whole and complete and capable of finishing sentences and locating stray keys and coffee cups.

But there is sad, sad news in the paper today. Researchers have learned that Omega 3’s don’t slow declining memory. All those fish gave their lives in vain.

This news makes The Prude sad. Because one day, she was sure, that magic capsule would come galloping to the rescue of her poor memory held captive in a confusing maze of…

Ignore the previous sentence. I forgot where I was going with it.

6 comments:

Wallydraigle said...

I'm 28. I already do this. Have been doing it for 28 years. So it can't be age. It must be genetic. Yes, I choose to blame my parents.

katstrange said...

I've got one word for you. But it's an unmentionable word. I'll give you a hint...it starts with an M.

Tammy said...

Oh do I hear ya! But I've attributed my forgetfulness to living in California... a state where forgetfulness is so pandemic that we just re-elected both Brown and Boxer.

The Prude said...

It is genetic. I blame it on Adam when he misplaced Eve in the garden.

OK Kathy- I can't think of M words- magnificent doesn't cut it, memorable- not so much,
malarkey? Mystifying? Mush-for-brains?

Excellent segue Tammy! I feel your pain- from a distance, of course.

Anonymous said...

Love it! Sooo relate! - Joanie

Robin J. Steinweg said...

That fish, that fish on the wall--I know I've seen it before...
No, I've HEARD it before! If I could just remember where...

"Don't worry. Be happy. Don't worry. Be happy now." Yes, at every garage sale for three years in a row, and still found in some thrift stores. Is that the fish in the picture? Did you hang him on the wall, and does he sing?