I am browned off with my memory loss. On Friday, I started my day off calmly, with a plan, but my rubbish memory sent my plan to hell. I had planned to go to the post office to post a parcel, which is two minutes from the daughter’s flat, where I was going to water her plants while she’s away, then I would go on to the opticians for a checkup. A cleverly organised round trip, perfectly timed, and I could take the dog in the car, because it has separation anxiety.
Off I went, got to the post office, posted the parcel, but just as I was about to drive to the daughter’s flat, I realised I had forgotten her keys. Damn. Did I have time to drive home and get them? Yes, just about. Drove home, collected keys, drove back, watered the plants. But guess what? I’d forgotten my three pairs of glasses. Drove home to collect them, rushed to the optician, 10 minutes late. And I was still calm. Miraculous. Until I had to pay, but couldn’t, because – bad luck – I had left my cash card at the post office. I hoped.
Went home, tried to ring the post office to see if the card was there. No answer. Rang the main post office, but they couldn’t put me through to the local office, and I couldn’t drive back to the post office, because it was only free parking until three o’clock, then you have to pay by card to park, but I couldn’t, because I didn’t have my card, which was still stuck in the post office. Blast.
So, I got on the bus to the post office, leaving the dog alone with his separation anxiety, which makes him wee and bark in my absence, got to the post office and the card was there! A triumph. Arrived home at last, exhausted, and the dog had not weed. Another triumph. And biggest triumph of all, I managed not to completely lose my temper. Marvellous.
A victory over two formidable obstacles: my own mind and the modern world. I won, this time. But for how much longer?
