Scary Senior Moment

Yesterday was a total wash. And it ended with the scariest “senior moment” I’ve ever experienced. It would be funny if it weren’t so…frightening.
After a relatively unproductive day, I took the subway to Chelsea to meet a friend for a movie, a free movie, since she has weekly free passes. It was sold out. No big deal. I’d wanted to hit the Figment Meet & Greet after the movie; I’d just show up earlier. “Let’s walk downtown,” I said. “It’s nice out.” We strolled the damp streets from Chelsea to Central Bar, where a piece of paper taped to the door read “Figment Meet & Greet Upstairs.” No one was upstairs. And no one ever showed. Because the Meet & Greet is on the 31st.  At least I saw one guy in the bar mirror’s reflection who’d made the same mistake. I didn’t get a chance to say hello, since he disappeared. No movie. No Meet & Greet. My friend and I had a couple of beers and chased them with roast beef from This Little Piggy. What a waste of a cute outfit.
My ridiculous day ended as I stood in the bathroom to take out my contacts. I blinked and blinked to get my left contact out and, damn it, it wasn’t working! Fine, I thought, I’ll take out the other one. I opened the case and there was already a contact sitting in there. I opened the other half and there it was, the contact I’d been unsuccessfully trying to blink out of my left eye. How had I managed to not know I’d already removed both of my contacts? Is my short-term memory already failing? I’ve often joked about having so much on my mind that I need to look in the toilet to see if I’ve peed. But is that really it? Do I have a lot on my mind? Or am I losing it?
I just spent the holidays with my dad, whose short-term memory is so shot that dinner out goes like this:
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re having dinner, dad.”
“Have we ordered?”
“Yes, we’ve already eaten.”
“Oh. What did I have?”
“You had the chicken, dad.”
“Yeah? Did I like it?”
“Yes, dad, you enjoyed the chicken.”
“Are we having dessert?”
“Yeah, dad, we’ve ordered dessert. It’s coming.”
“Oh good!”
So you can understand my concern.
I woke up this morning and got ready to bombard everyone I know with a plea to come visit me at Double Down, where I’d be bartending. When I texted the manager to see what time he wanted me to show up, he informed me that my shift is NEXT Wednesday, not today. Sigh. I madly scrambled to let the people I’d already begged to join me know that tonight wasn’t the night. Hmm, how to un-invite the thousands of NYC burning peeps who’ve been notified via the two emailing lists? And how did I not notice the fucking DATE on the text the guy had sent me asking me work Wednesday, January 25th?
There’s an event I want to attend with a few friends. I thought it was tomorrow night. Someone just pointed out that it’s next week. Am I living in the future? Why do I have all my dates so scrambled? I’m trying not to lose my shit, along with my mind. I should take consolation in the fact that at least one other person, if not two (since another friend I’d texted to see if he was going said no, also believing it was last night) as well as the bar, thought the damn Meet & Greet was last night. And of the friends I’d emailed about the (next) Thursday event, a few others also thought it was tomorrow. Can I blame social media? Is this all Facebook’s fault? Because believe me, there’s nothing I’d like better than passing this particular buck.
Are we so bombarded with information that it’s difficult to process it all? Somehow all events get compressed into almost immediately. I feel like, Don’t notify me about something that’s too far into the future because I’ll never remember. I can only process what’s going on in the next 48 hours.
To take it a step further, who remembers birthdays unless Facebook notifies them? Does anyone actually snail mail birthday cards anymore? Or at least cards that aren’t “belated?” Who else doesn’t rely on Gmail to fill in their friends’ addresses? And do we have anyone’s phone numbers memorized? What are the brain cells we once used for these tasks doing now? Besides fucking FORGETTING things?
Anyway… On a related note, I recently learned that forgetting what you went from one room to another for is a common problem and not related to old age or dementia. (Thank GAWD!) Apparently passing through a doorway signals your brain that it’s experiencing a new “episode.”
“The researchers say that when you pass through a doorway, your mind compartmentalizes your actions into separate episodes. Having moved into a new episode, the brain archives the previous one, making it less available for access. It’s as if you slam a mental door between what you knew and…what was I saying?”
I’ve gotta go get me some ginko biloba… Seriously.
Day 7, January 17
1. 20 minutes of meditating. Though it was kinda cheating, since I did it in bed even before I got up. At least I didn’t fall back asleep…
2. 30 minutes of working out.
3. Blogging/writing. Completed last night’s “Not-So-Old Men” post…
4. I can’t remember what I watched on TV… See above.
5. Still picking up after the last few boxes I brought up. Again. Again? Okay, that’s a bit of a stretch. I managed to mail off two very small items to get them out of my way. I chucked one shattered head vase in the trash instead of desperately gluing it back together. “$40 Reno” said the slip of paper inside. Goodbye, $40! Sigh.
6. Socializing: 4 hours of not seeing a movie, not being at the Figment Meet & Greet and eating roast beef. Hah!
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