Losing my mind, a piece at a time

I used to have a really, really good memory. Tests were easy—reading through the material and my notes once or twice was sufficient for an A—even for tests where I had to recall specific dates that I hadn’t studied! I remembered friends’ (and casual acquaintances’) middle names, birthdays and e-mail addresses. I knew where Ryan left his belt, shoes or wallet.

Now I regularly spend 20 minutes looking for the shoes I took off 2 hours ago. Someone gives me a visiting teaching report, but I can’t remember whether they completed it or not. On three trips to the grocery store in a row, I buy peanut butter. (At least it’s not pasta.)

And as Hayden sleeps better at night, I lose more and more of my memory! I can’t even blame sleep deprivation anymore. Maybe I’m getting old. But I thought you’re not supposed to start losing brain cells until 30. Or did I remember that wrong?

This reminds me of an anecdote from Reader’s Digest. A three- or four-year-old got a sunburn and was peeling. An adult overheard the little girl in the bathroom, examining her skin: “Four years old and already wearing out…”

Then again, I suppose I still have a good memory. I’m just becoming more scatterbrained. I remember, as a tween and teen, being convinced that someone had taken my shoes. Well, if they did, they left them behind my door. I had an uncanny ability to lose something important and look for it multiple times in the exact place I’d find it hours later (and how hard can it be to find something on a computer desk?). Maybe I’ve just always been this crazy.