Forget-Me-Not

When the social worker came to do an assessment on Mom (memory tests), I secretly did the tests along with her. Neither of us passed.

I returned home in a state, as usual. It always takes a while to recover. I looked at my to-do list and calendar, went about my normal day…week…checking off things as they happened.

On Thursday, I woke to the sound of my phone ringing, like I do almost every morning (early) and it’s always my mom (former roommates can attest to this, nothing like a phone call from Mom at 5:30am to jumpstart your day).

Having recently read an article on stifling creativity, I was inspired to keep the phone and the outside world away. So, with my eyes still closed, I reached over, flipped the ringer off,  sent a blessing to my mom, and began my new day, creativity flowing strong.

I went about my business very happily to say the least. The sun was shining and I had a wonderful agenda full of friends and fun activities ahead of me. I must report that it was probably one of the best days I’ve ever had, until…I found out it was my boss calling in the morning, not my mom. I had forgotten I was supposed to be at work.

How did this happen? The specifications for my assignment hung above my head in clear site on my corked bullitin board and was written clearly in my calendar.

The scariest part is, this is not the first time this has happened to me.

When you come to realize that people were depending on you, were waiting for you, and you’ve let them down and caused havoc, it resonates a feeling similar to that of being naked in front of the world (I imagine). Vulnerable loser, stripped and exiled. Unreliable.

I don’t think I would feel as terrible if I hadn’t had so much fun. I probably should have had a more honorable excuse to offer, but I didn’t. I spent the day making juice, hula-hoops and jewelry. Then I hopped on over to an impromptu afternoon dance party, and then another one, all with a fun crew of ladies. The day was superbly dreamy.

Remembering has never been my strongest asset, but ever since I started up my own business (three years ago) these blanks in my conscious thoughts started happening at the alarming rate of at least once, sometimes twice a year…that I can remember.

I’m certain that having a sporadic schedule has something to do with it, but it never ceases to catch me by surprise every time it occurs.

The first of these kinds of incidences happened to me shortly after going through a dramatic break up. It was a terribly lonely and trying time for me and my ex and we were desperately seeking any shred of what we once had to ride on, hoping it really wasn’t the end. But every time we would make a date and he would come to get me, I wouldn’t hear him knocking on my door. He would go back to his home, call and ask what was going on and I would tell him, “I’m just here waiting for you.”

So he would come back and knock again. No response. He would pound on my window, and again, I wouldn’t hear it.

He would go home and call again and I would tell him I was going to leave the door unlocked so he could let himself in.

Apparently, I wouldn’t unlock the door, and again, he would go home hurt and confused; unanswered. It was the strangest thing. I lived in a studio apartment where the door and the one window were never more than 10 feet away from me. And it wasn’t like I had the stereo blasting or anything. I remember one of those instances, I just woke up and realized I had fallen asleep while waiting. He had already come and gone.

This cycle/series happened a number of times before it was acknowledged.

He knew I wasn’t trying to be mean and that I was really just sort of closing him off, subconsciously. He told me this and of course my conscious mind refused to believe this at first, but once he said the words, they settled in with relief and I realized it was true; I didn’t want to see him anymore. Yes, I loved him and cared about him, and wanted him to be happy. We deserved a second, third, fourth chance to make things right; everyone does, but deep down, I didn’t want to give it. I didn’t have the strength to say it, but my subconscious did…obviously.

So now I have to face the fact that my subconscious is doing the same thing, giving me the same messages about my job. That, or my brain juices aren’t flowing adequately. I’ve set up an appointment with my doctor.

I’ll make mention that I didn’t pass the memory tests as well.

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About clutterheart

You don't know me, but you will.
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