I’m finding it hard to write at the moment. During the day my mind is brimming with ideas; I always take Sam for an hour-long walk after lunch in an attempt to get him off to sleep (he is very obstinate and does his utmost to resist napping). In that hour of silence, in my head I can write pages and pages of original material; which would not only be published, but also make me rich, famous, and hugely respected in the literary world. But once again I find that my imagination is far too vivid; leaving me with a somewhat disappointing real life. Much to my dismay, those truly original thoughts do not stand the test of time through until the evening. Not only can I not replicate the beautiful turns of phrase that I kid myself that I am capable of, but I can’t even remember the subjects that I was brain-writing about during walk time.
My horrendous memory has been commented on by many. I used to blame alcohol: I was a bit of a party girl at uni and never had the self-discipline to stop after a couple of drinks on nights out. I didn’t go completely over the top, but safe to say I usually surpassed ‘tipsy’. In fact, it is only due to photos on Facebook that I am able to recall any of my time as a student. These poorly-lit, unflattering images act as useful stepping stones through my memory and help me to piece together the in-between events that were not documented. I know this makes me sound like a raging alcoholic, but I’m not – I am as unable to recollect the sober times as I am the drunken ones. I have insulted numerous friends in the past by completely eradicating what should be important memories of times together.
I am terrible at remembering names. I am terrible at remembering faces. Connecting the two of those together is impossible for me. I can never remember directions – I still use TomTom to find my way to the home of one of my best friends; and it’s only a 45 minute drive away! When I go into shops, I’ll have a quick browse and then accidentally walk down the street in the direction I had come.
My memory is particularly dodgy in times of emotional strife (and yes, that is quite an exaggerated way of putting it, but I feel I need to provide a convincing excuse for losing my marbles; especially as it has happened on multiple occasions):
When I was heavily pregnant I was driving along, happy as Larry, when suddenly I realised I had no idea where I was. Not only that, but I also had no idea where I wanted to be – I literally had NO IDEA. It was one of the strangest, scariest moments of my life – felt like I’d gone absolutely crazy. Had to look in the car for clues, and eventually it clicked that I was meant to be heading to a barbeque. I was half an hour away despite living only 10 minutes from the venue! For the rest of my pregnancy, every time I went in the car, I had to carry a note in my pocket in case the same thing happened again.
More recently I drove Sam to the local train station and sat in the car park for a bit, pondering whether we should get out and wait on the platform. Then it struck me that I couldn’t remember who we were meant to be picking up. After a few minutes of feeling flustered, the answer came: no one. We weren’t meant to be at the station at all; I had arranged to meet someone at an indoor play area across town. Another indication of insanity.
I am actually quite concerned that my brain is deteriorating (another sign of premature ageing?). It does provide me with a few chuckles though; just last night I put a plate of food in the microwave to heat up for Sam’s tea. Waited three minutes – DING! – and opened the door to see an empty plate; I’d forgotten to put the food on it.
‘Oh so you’re hungry are you, Sam? One hot plate, commming up!’ Such an excellent mother.