This post is dedicated to three distinct demographics. Well, distinct might be a bit strong, not to mention overused, so perhaps I should just leave that pesky adjective for another time and purpose. Now that I think of it, demographic might be a little optimistic for me, and since I have not checked with Wikipedia, Alexa, Siri, or my better half, I’ll just leave that one out, too.
So, where were we? And where did I put my reading glasses? Gosh, this return to blogging is not going as smoothly as I had hoped.
I found my glasses. They were on my head. However, I left my coffee cup somewhere. I will be right back.
Okay, let’s start over, shall we?
This post is dedicated to those unfortunate individuals who seem to be constantly searching for things they misplaced. Those poor souls include, but certainly are not limited to:
- The older generation.
- Post-menopausal women.
- Overly-busy people of any age demographic (I conferred with the toddler next door, who assured me demographic fits in this case)
Mild forgetfulness is quite common for us old geezers folks of a certain age. One of my favorite games to play is “find that fucking whatchamacallit.” To play, you simply walk into a room to retrieve an item or to perform an activity that was pre-planned. Upon arrival in said room, your brain puts itself on hold, and you can no longer remember why you entered the room in the first place. To win the game, you must find that fucking whatchamacallit. So fun!
When I went post-menopausal, I had all the normal symptoms and behaviors. I sweat. I ate. I ate some more. I forgot things like…oh heck, I forget what I forgot. I bought a gun (I dreamed about buying a gun. I also picked up a bad case of lying.) I took naps. I drank buttermilk and ate pork rinds. I scared kids off my lawn. Okay, I never really did that last one, but it’s on my bucket list for the next geezer level (which I hear allows for frolicking and weird mood swings.) Like I said before, it’s all quite normal. I’m no authority or doctor, but I do play both on my blog.
I used to be an overly-busy person until I located and neutralized that behavior. Many years ago, I took my four-year old over to my friend’s house. My friend had agreed to babysit while I went to work, which meant some much-needed overtime. I quickly said my goodbyes, then went out and got in my car. It took a couple of seconds before I realized I had sat down in the passenger’s seat instead of the driver’s seat where I belonged. When reality set in, I looked up and saw my friend standing in her doorway, holding my son, and laughing her ass off. Busy is highly overrated.
I am now happily retired. I am a huge proponent of uni-tasking. Oh, I still forget things, but I have a lot more time to play “find that fucking whatchamacallit.”
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