Friday

…older, wiser and prone to forget

Memory loss has advantages. I am forgetting so much these days that it’s become a game. Every day is a new day and I never vacation in the same place twice. I no longer dwell on the things I have forgotten, but the miracle of things I can remember!

Dear Me,
When someone asks me if I’ve ever visited a place before, I turn to my husband with a quizzical eyebrow.
At that point, he puts his arm around me and assures me, “Yes, dear and we have photos to prove it.” Although with the advent of photo manipulation, I think he inserts me into places I’ve never been, doing things I’ve never done, and seeing things I’ve never seen. He’s revising history again. How dare he? T.


Remember the inter-note[about the eighty-year old in the purple hat? If you can’t remember, get on the internet and google purple hat and it will come up. That’s how I found the website designated for poetry about soup. (Don’t ask why I needed poetry about soup. It’s another long story.)

I have a theory about those anonymous inter-notes: Who writes them? Inter-notes are penned by famously great authors that don’t want to be known as contributors of inter-note drivel.

To me:
When I reprinted the note for my husband, (the purple hat, not the poetry soup) who doesn’t have time for inter-note fodder, I told him that I would like to be that eighty-year old.

He said, "You'll be the eighty-year old in the purple bra, wearing it outside your clothes and I'll be the guy standing in the middle of the street begging to be run over.”

I laughed then, but I thought, "Eeugh, gonna stink to be you.”

I’m thinking it would be better to be the one that does whatever they want and doesn’t remember! I’m already living that reality.

The nice thing about a bad memory is that you wake and it’s a new day with all past sins forgotten and so many great new things to rediscover. And it's most pleasant to think that de-ja-vu is just one of my wayward memories returning.

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