Monday, February 7, 2011

Somewhere Along The Course of My Life, I Lost My Mind. I Really Wish I'd Find It.

This post is going to make less sense than usual because I'm really trying to be better about posting regularly, and I don't have a lot of time to think this through. So I'm just going to throw a bunch of words on the screen and see what happens.

My mind?  It's gone ya'll.  I know everyone says "I've lost my mind," but guess what?  They haven't actually lost it.  I know, because I actually have lost my mind.  And it's a scary thing.  And an annoying thing.  It  makes me feel...lost, and alone, and overwhelmed, and intimidated.

Okay.  Not really.  It just makes me feel annoyed.  And I little baffled.  I feel like I constantly walk around saying what the heck just happened? or what was I just doing? or hi, why are you grabbing my boob?  Oh, you're my husband, that's right.

I will get up from my desk at work, with the intention of walking to the printer, which is in another room, to retrieve a document I just printed.  But by the time I have left my office I have completely forgotten what I was going to do.  But not in that what was I just going to do? way when you get really frustrated because you can't remember what you were just about to say, get, do, etc.  I leave my office and have zero recollection that I printed something or was on my way to the printer.  I leave my office, head to the kitchen, pour a glass of water and go back to my desk.  Ten minutes later, one of co-workers will walk into my office, put a piece of paper on my desk and say "did you print this?"  Oh.  Yeah.

Happens.  All.  The time.

One day I got up from my desk, walked out of my office and did have that what was I just going to do? feeling, and ended up roaming around the office, walking into every room, hoping it would jog my memory.  It didn't, so I went to the bathroom and sat back down at my desk.

On more than one occasion I have been at home and gone downstairs to the kitchen for the single solitary purpose of getting a glass of water.  A few minutes later I'm back upstairs, and guess what?  No water.  What did I do downstairs?  Opened the curtains, lit a candle, fed the dogs, ate some M&M's.  Pretty much everything under the sun except get a glass of water.

It's happening to the husband too.

The other night we were at Carraba's for his birthday.  Scratch that.  We went somewhere else for his birthday.  We were at Carabba's because I was all MUST HAVE PASTA NOW! and the husband had a bit of a cold so he was all sniffly.  He says, "I'm going to go to the bathroom to blow my nose."  A few minutes later, he returns, sits down.  And sniffles.  And then says, "do you know what I did?"

"You went to the bathroom and didn't blow your nose," I say.

Correct contestant number three!  Would you like the home entertainment set or this new washer and dryer?

After dinner, the husband calls our friend P to tell him and his wife J that we aren't coming up to visit them this weekend.  "Tell him to tell J that I had forgotten that I had made plans with A and that is why we are not coming," I tell the husband.

The husband, "Okay."

Dials.  Ring.  Ring.

The husband: Hey P, we're not coming up this weekend.  I have to work.

Me: tell him about A!

The husband: yeah I have to work

Me: tell him I already had plans with A!

The husband: Where are you?  At dinner?  I'll call you later.

Hangs up.

Me: Why didn't you tell him about A?!

The husband: I didn't know what you wanted me to say.

Me: I told you.  Tell him I had already made plans with A.  J will understand that I wouldn't want to cancel a commitment I had made with a friend.  Now J might think I am canceling with her to be with another friend!

The husband: When did you tell me this?

Me: Right before you called P!

The husband: Oh.  I must not have been listening.

Now, normally I would get my panties in a wad over the fact that the husband actually admitted he wasn't listening to me.  I mean seriously, who does that?  But I would rather accept the fact that he wasn't listening than accept that he might be losing his mind too.  The husband is the stable, sane, reasonable one in this relationship.  Things will not bode well for us, if he starts getting a little One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

But honestly?  I think it's inevitable.  We're both losing it.

At least I, however, still remember historically significant facets of my and the husband's relationship.  Like how he developed his love for mushrooms.  He used to hate mushrooms.  Until I had a giant portobello mushroom on my sandwich at dinner one night and he was all "Ew, what is that?  You're not going to eat that are you?"  And I was all, "Seriously? It's a mushroom.  Try it."  He did and was all, "OMG, GREATEST FOOD EVER.  I LOVE MUSHROOM GIVE ME MORE NOW NOM NOM NOM!"

You would think one would remember the exact location that such a life changing even occurred right?  Well the husband thinks it occurred at Red Lobster.  But it totally did not.  What did occur at Red Lobster was one night in college the husband and I were studying at the computer lab like good little studious students when he was all, "Let's go to Red Lobster.  I want their biscuits."  And I was all, "Right on dude!  I want their Sunset Passion Colada!"

So we drove like bats out o hell and arrived five minutes before close.  I ordered TWO Sunset Passion Coladas and our waiter was all, "I've never seen anyone do that before."

That was what happened at Red Lobster.  Not the amazing mushroom incident.  That happened at...

At...

...

SHOOT!  I just had it!  The entire time I was writing about the Sunset Passion Coladas the name of the restaurant was dancing around in my head.  And now?  Gone.

SHOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!

See that there?  I censored myself.  I wanted to say shit, but so as not to offend those that are offended by shit, I said shoot.  Not that anyone has told me they are offended by the (occasional, and totally necessary) bad words on my blog, but sometimes I try to be considerate, just in case.  Of course by saying shoot instead of shit, I may have just offended a whole bunch of folks offended by the word shoot.  This is why I'm against censorship.  In the process of not offending some people, you offend others.  And it is my blog and I can say whatever I want and if you don't like it you don't have to read it.  (Oh, hello Soap Box.  Nice to see you there.)  Unless someone's holding a gun to your head forcing you to read it.  In which case, you've got bigger things to worry about than the word "shit" wouldn't you say?

Huh.  Look at that.  In my effort not to say shit, I ended up saying it five times.  Proves my point, doesn't it?  About censorship.  Which is what this post is about.

No.  No, it totally is not.  It's about losing my mind, which, clearly, by the paragraph above, has definitely happened.

What has also happened is that by writing about shit, or in my effort to not write about shit, I remembered the name of the restaurant.

Ballyhoos.

Ballyhoos is where the great mushroom incident happened.

And don't let the husband or anyone else tell you different.  Even when they're committing me to the mental institution because I'm all, "Honestly doctor, the pink polar bear told me it was cereal.  Why else would I eat a bowl of rocks?"

1 comment:

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