Growing Older Sucks
I'm down at the Public Library on Poplar, trying to step onto the escalator, when I have an Old Man Moment. I was about to put my foot onto the moving step when I was seized by worry. I actually had to stop, watch the moving steps, then coordinate my movements so I wouldn't fall!
Then, at the CheckOut Desk, I was told I had $2.00 of late fees. Huh? Turns out that the books I had returned earlier weren't due tomorrow, but last weekend. I had gotten the dates wrong.
I've been realising over the course of the last year that my brain, once a fearsome and potent weapon I wielded with great confidence, just ain't working right any more. My store of data is faulty and incomplete. Things I learn don't stick, or stick funny so that I mis-remember. It's like a light fog or constantly being in the state of waking where you're not sure if this is the dream or the real world.
I've been joking of late that my mind is like a Teflon sieve: nothing sticks and everything falls through. Even though I've been playing the Epic: Armageddon game for a solid year, I still can't remember the basic rules. I'm certain I remember something, only to research it and find out that -- no, not quite it.
It's why I sometimes take blog breaks; I'm just not sure I'm up to pointing out the wrongs I see because I'm not sure of what I remember seeing or that I remember the rights.
And to add insult to indignity, I discovered about three years ago that I'm now talking to myself. Well, mumbling really. But expressing the continuous monologue in my head out loud. Like a crazy guy.
Sigh. I'm just not ready for this.