My memory is going. I just can’t seem to think of things as quickly as I did before. I find myself searching for words and other things – stuff that came easily before.
Now that I’ve turned 60, I would naturally expect things to slow down a bit. But that’s normal? They say you know you’re getting older when things stop working – and those bits that do work hurt. If that’s a true sign of aging then yes, I am aging.
Print is getting smaller for starters. My arms aren’t long enough now to hold the page out where the words come into focus. The eyes won’t focus either – which means I have to make sure I keep reading glasses close to hand. But because I’m forgetful I can’t remember where I put the glasses in the first instance.
I know I left one pair in Canada and my friends in Toronto have yet to post them to me. Maybe they forget about me and my glasses. Or maybe they did send them to me – I can’t remember.
It’s rather embarrassing too when I put on my squinty face when I’m looking at a menu over a candlelight supper in some swanky bistro. At least with the coronavirus pandemic, the sight of me trying to hold the menu up to the dim candle – and not setting it ablaze – can’t happen now. The restaurants are closed, which is a blessing in disguise, I guess.
Hanging from my sweater
There’s nothing worse too than trying to remember where I put my glasses. I’ll tear the office apart, look in the same drawers three or four times, check the empty eyeglass case a couple of times – then realise that they’ve been sitting on the top of my head or hanging from my sweater the whole time.
But I have issues when it comes to remembering names. I used to be good at it. Now, not so much. Maybe my mind is a bit like that cloud service I use for my computer. I keep getting messages that it’s almost full and I’m out of memory storage space – yes, I know the feeling only all too well – but I can’t seem to remember the password to update the cloud account in the first instance. If I could remember then I wouldn’t have memory problems. So yes, my own memory is a bit cloudy too.
Someone has suggested that I keep a diary to jot things down. I do. But it’s hard to keep it updated because I can’t find my eyeglasses. And no, they’re not on my head or my sweater. And not in the drawer because I searched that twice already.
I can’t read my writing
I also find that I can’t read my writing. Seriously. I scrawl. It’s more like a printout from a heart monitor than it is actual sentences. I can’t remember if I write the sentences wearing my glasses or not. And until I remember where I put my glasses, my arm isn’t long enough to read it anyways. And even if I found my glasses, I’d still have to decipher the scribbles and what they’re supposed to remind me of in the first instance.
I forget too that I’m aging. I still think of myself as being relatively young but with poorer eyesight and a few more aches. When I’m watching football on television, I’m still moving to head the ball or give it a lash towards goal. I never get substituted either, and play the full 90 minutes plus stoppage time.
One of the things I’m grateful for is that televisions have gotten bigger down through the years. The only trouble is I can’t remember where I put the remote…
