funny

A friend on the choir cleared up a little mystery that’s been lurking around for a while. She’s a pharmacist — has been for some decades.

She, having observed that recently I’ve been even more bat-brained than usual, remarked the drug anaesthesiologists use to knock you out causes a kind of brain fog that can last upwards of a month. Hmmm…

The Mayo’s nurses tell you not to sign any legal documents for a day or two after the surgery on the theory that you may feel confused for 24 to 48 hours. But my pharmacist friend says to extend that to several days, and not to be surprised if you can’t remember where you left your fingers for several weeks.

Insight!

That explains a lot. Since the current surgical marathon has been going  on, I’ve become as scatterbrained as Lucille Ball! I cannot remember ANYTHING. Every day I lose something, I make wrong turns, thinking I’m turning into the neighborhood but ending up in the one to the south. And I’m constantly making weird little ditzy mistakes.

She says that’s the long-term effect of the anesthetic. She advised being careful not to leave the kitchen when you’ve got a pan on the heat, and not to get upset when these little glitches happen. And also to be extra careful while driving.

LOL! The other day I had a 7 a.m. meeting in Scottsdale and a 9:30 a.m. in northwest Phoenix, way on the other side of the Valley. (The “Valley” is larger than the city of Los Angeles, which should give you an idea of what that means.) I wanted to let the dogs out between them so as to have less mess to clean up after getting back from the second meeting.

So around 8:50 I come flying in the door, rocket to the bedroom and let the pup out of her crate, shovel the two dogs into the backyard, stash my computer in the car for the 9:30 meeting and haul the stuff from the 7:00 meeting and dump it in the office, lock the dogs into the backyard with the dog door open and the bedroom door to the dog-door room closed (more mess prevention), fly back out the door, leap into the Dog Chariot, charge out of the garage, get about a half block down the road and think…hey! WHERE’S MY PURSE?

Well, it’s not in the car.

Back to the house.

Not in the kitchen. Not in my office. Not in the living room. Not in the dining room. Not on the bedroom bureau. Not even in the bathroom! Helle’s Belles! I figure I’ve left it at the restaurant.

Now I’m frantic — the Scottsdale restaurant where my bidness group meets on Thursday mornings is a half-hour drive away! And my entire life is in that thing. And it’s a breakfast joint — closes in the early afternoon. The other place I have to be is a half-hour in the other direction.

Grab the phone, look up the place’s phone number, dial it, and pace anxiously around the house waiting for someone to pick up the phone. That’s when I see an odd black mass sitting on the bed.

A short, fat zombie?

No.

I’d dropped my purse on the bed when I shot in to let the puppy out of her crate. And completely spaced it. Never would even have begun to think of looking on the bed for it. Nor would I normally drop a purse on the bed anyway.

For the past ten years or so, I’ve been deep enough into my dotage that I can’t find things unless I put them down in the same place all the time. But over the past more recent while, what with four procedures in five months, it’s gotten much more ridiculous. 😀

Last weekend in some kind of a hurry, I took off my choir robe and cotta and tossed them on a chair in the choir room, and flew out to do something — don’t even recall what (because of course I can’t remember my name longer than about an hour these days). When I got back, someone had taken the robe and left the cotta (or at least so i think). So I get a substitute from the store of new ones. I become so preoccupied with this that I don’t realize I’m supposed to be wearing the brightly colored chant choir robe, because chant choir is singing the introit. So I throw on my white cotta and, late as usual, run to join the others at the front of the sanctuary (oh, yes…where ELSE?). Naturally, I’m the only one up there who doesn’t match. And the communications director is shooting photos. I try to hide in the back row, no doubt ineffectually.

As if that weren’t enough, shortly I manage to lose one of the church’s music books — these are lent to choir members, assigned by numbers. Between last week’s rehearsal and this morning, I search the house, I search the car, I rack my brain. Finally realize I probably left it in the choir loft (or maybe in the choir room) (or who knows where?). But since it’s nowhere to be found, I figure I’ll be purchasing and donating a new music book. Hmm… £13.95. That would be $21.92. Plus shipping.

Fortunately, the choir director found it and put it aside. Saved!

People say things in meetings. I can’t remember what was said. I don’t even remember that something was said. I write and distribute a report that makes it obvious I haven’t a clue.

I say I’ll do things. And have no memory of saying I’d do those things.

I show up at choir practice late because I’m so engrossed in grading papers I lose track of the time.

I go off and leave the space heater on.

Have you noticed that as you get older, it takes you longer to get out of the house? That you’re always running late because you’re bloody never ready to go???

That’s not a function of the drug-induced brain fuzz, but it certainly has been aggravated of late.

I started trying to figure out why it takes so long to get out the door now that I’m old, given that I never had this problem as a young pup. What has changed?

What, indeed.

1. Computers. Back in the good old days, one didn’t fill the first moments (and the next moments, and the next moments…)  of the morning with e-mail. Now every day starts with a check of e-mail, replies, maybe another check for replies to replies.
2. Makeup. When I was young and pretty, I didn’t need to paint my face quite so artfully. Yea verily, I didn’t really need to paint my face at all, and often didn’t. Now a good, thick layer is required to cover the brown spots and fill in the wrinkles.
3. Lost stuff. A lost purse. A lost file. A lost list. A lost whatever.
4. Liquids. I never used to carry a cup of water with me every where I go. Not a chance. I never fixed coffee before leaving the house so’s to pour a mugful and stash it in the car. If I wanted coffee, I bought it en route, usually at a nearby Dunkin’ Donuts, now defunct. Now I’ve taken it into my head that the car can’t leave the garage unless it’s stocked with something to drink.
5. Locked office door. Whatever I’ve remembered that I forgot, it’s always on the other side of the goddamn deadbolt on the office.
6. Dogs. In the olden days, dogs did not shit all over the goddamn floor. Therefore, the household livestock did not have to be wrangled into pens or herded outdoors before the human could leave the house. One could simply close the door behind one and lock it, leaving the dog inside to snooze undisturbed until one returned.
7. Dog food. Before the melamine flap and the offshoring of everything, including dog food, to China, I fed the dogs kibble. It took all of 10 seconds to dish up a bowlful. Now I have to fiddle around with measuring out eight ounces to each dog from packages of freshly made concoctions and then storing the remainder back in the fridge.
8. Dog competition. Dogs of yore did not try to steal each others’ food; therefore one of the dogs did not have to be tied to the oven door to keep her from chasing her betters away from their dog-food dishes…
9. Space heaters. Back in the day, one could afford to pay to run the central heating.

So it goes.

The whiteboards with the calendars and space for daily to-do lists help a lot, especially the one that’s now installed on the back door. Lately I’ve been trying to organize stuff a day or two in advance and load it into the car, making it harder to forget things and cutting the last-minute thrash-around factor. I try to remember to put everything back in its accustomed spot (if something isn’t where I expect to find it, I’m not gonna find it). I’ve quit carrying water, tea, or coffee in the vehicle. I make lists, in hopes of not forgetting something important. But I can’t second-guess what I’m going to forget.

 Got any ideas? What do you do to avoid losing things, forgetting things, muffing things, and chronically running late?