Three Things

More often than not, while expressing my thoughts to someone as of late, I find I have to pause briefly. During this pause, I watch my thoughts flutter within my mind like butterflies caught in a net. It is during this hesitation that I realize, the next thought in line waiting to be voiced, has escaped. As if disappearing in thin air, it vanished - which brings on the inevitable stammering, followed by the even more inevitable statement, “Damn it.”

And like the prodigal son, this thought eventually returns - usually much later, and well after I’m done visiting with whomever it was I was visiting with in the first place. But like that wayward child, once it has come back, I rejoice. I stop whatever I'm doing at the time and declare, “Oh… that’s right. That's what I wanted to say.” But a lot of good it does, as these returning thoughts usually show up while I’m brushing my teeth right before bed or while rolling over in the middle of the night.

This vanishing routine will not get the best of me. I have a notebook that I keep with me now, at least while driving. As a writer, my storylines frequently roll in the back of my mind like a movie reel. And when my characters start talking, I have to record every line. And I mean that literally – if I don’t, I will find myself later in the day, sitting behind my laptop, staring off into the distance trying ardently to remember what the heck I told myself to remember.

Two things prompted the writing of this blog. The first being: while slurping my coffee this morning a rogue memory returned. And upon its return I was thoroughly irked that of all memories, it was the one that chose to run off without even first saying goodbye. You see - before writing my prior blog, Smells Like Summer, I had taken the time to find an old photograph, wherein my sweltering day at the fair was well documented. I had meant to include it with the blog, but – forgot. The second being: as middle age settles itself comfortably into my life, I’ve noticed with it came a new pastime; walking into numerous rooms of the house unable to remember why I entered. Wherein the following routine takes place: I enter, I stare blankly at the walls, I shake my head, pivot, and leave.

Now, when without paper, I count the number of things to be remembered. I usually take this mental list no further than three things. If it's more than three, I better locate a scrap of paper or start writing on the back of my hand. So far, this method is proving effective. However, with time I feel assured its efficacy will diminish. 

With my previous blog now updated – I suppose it would be best that I post this blog before I forget.

Sane