Forgetting

I seem to keep forgetting, or maybe just not remembering, so much lately. Not everything, but too many things for my comfort. It’s my age, I know it is, it’s just a stage I’ve read and I’ve heard. And I hope.

But that doesn’t help me while it’s happening. Daily.

And you would think that the most frustrating thing about forgetting things would be the things I keep forgetting. But that isn’t always the case.

It’s the things I wish I could forget but can’t. It’s knowing so many little details about my life, and the life of so many others, but I can’t remember something I need to use almost daily. Sometimes important information that keeps the wheels on this bus of life moving, going from stop to stop.

Why can’t I remember my password to the school picture site, to place my long overdue order of my youngest in his last year of elementary school – for that matter, why can’t my computer remember?! – but I can remember the first time I ate fresh blackberries picked from the tree in the park, down the street from our apartment, after I climbed the fence to reach them…when I was 7?

Why can’t I remember my latest license plate number, that I have now had for almost a year, but can go into minute detail about my birthday forty years ago, when it was 70 degrees and sunny in November in Chicago, and I walked with my best friend to go to the strip mall wearing our famously tomboy ensemble of flannel shirts and jeans with Chuck E. Taylor gym shoes.

It makes no sense. But that’s what happens.

So many memories, so many details, swirling around my head bringing back vibrant pictures like my own personal movie. It can be provoked from a song, a scent or someone I pass by that looks like someone I used to know.

But can’t remember their name, of course.

And if I’m now in the stage of forgetting, why can’t I forget the ugly times? If I’m going to forget things, you’d think those would be the ones my brain would weed out. But it doesn’t seem to work that way. No, those memories are just below the surface, waiting to be reignited and fanned into huge engulfing flames.

No, I just forget the things I truly need when I need them most. My passwords are the worst, it makes banking and running my life more of an Olympic sport. Or maybe more like an episode of Jeopardy. I’ll take password hints for $500, Alex.

And don’t ask me to try “forgot my password” to reset it. I have tried, and tried…and tried again. Most times the email never shows up, or I try having the link sent by text, thinking I can outsmart the system, but that goes into a black hole where passwords go to die. If it does actually show up, and I am able to “use the link provided”, by the time I can finally come up with a password I haven’t already used (don’t you just love that?) I’ve forgotten what I’ve typed in!

I’ve created a cheat sheet in my phone, against all recommendations and suggestions about the possibility of being hacked or having my identity stolen. I figure if the person who finds my phone can figure out my password, they’ve earned that reward.

Maybe they can email it to me?

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2 thoughts on “Forgetting

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