My Filing Cabinet   1 comment

I’ve always had a great memory.  I am known among friends and acquaintances, who turn to me for obscure song lyrics from the 70s and 80s, other people’s telephone numbers and addresses, specifics about things we did together in the past…that kind of thing.

Not to mention the important stuff.  I never forget birthdays, anniversaries, what’s important to someone, where he’s from, what she does for a living, either.

That is…I never used to.

But something started happening when I turned 40.

I know, I know, huge stereotype, right?

But for me, literally, when I turned 40, that very year is when things started getting erased from the hard drive.

Now I can still remember songs from the 80s and some phone numbers from about ten years ago, you know incredibly useful stuff like that, but meeting new people and successfully storing their names in the gray matter has gotten way harder.  And it’s continuing to get more difficult, despite working hard to pull that stuff into the “keeper” file.

It’s the strangest feeling having your children tell you about something that happened last month or a few years ago and it’s blank.

They are at least tolerant of this weakness, and they like the metaphor I used to describe my situation.

You see, life is full and has been ever since I started giving birth to them.  So life is like a pick-up truck roaring down the interstate at 70 miles an hour.

In the back of the pick-up is an old, grey, extremely battered metal filing cabinet.

And as I drive wildly down the road of my life, the drawers rattle open from all the movement and action.  Guess what happens next?

Bits of white notebook paper come shooting violently out of the loose drawers of my mind.  So as I go I leave a trail of confetti.

Yep, that’s what it feels like.  There just isn’t room for any more  information, for one thing, and the speed of life demands that the time I have be spent in the present and planning for the future, so I don’t have time to turn around and try to collect all that lost information.

So, if I forget something about you, or the last time we got together, and what we did — don’t take it personally.  It’s just the state of my filing cabinet .

 

 

 

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Posted July 2, 2014 by swanatbagend in mental health, transitions

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One response to “My Filing Cabinet

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  1. All the time. I once said my brain was full of inconsequential facts, like the locker combination I overheard when I was a freshman in high school. I don’t have room for extra facts. However, I’ve recently discovered that I do, in fact, have room. I just have to figure out the lock to get my brain working again.

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