Short Term Memory

Oh, he-ey.  I’m feeling a little hum-drum; kind of apathetic, a little anti-spicy. In this next chapter of “Aren’t you jealous that you can’t be me?” I will compare and contrast even more of my #FAILS involved with my infinitely annoying cerebral setback. Sigh….

Having a Short Term Memory short circuitry situation is one of the biggest sources of frustration, because your credibility decreases every time your mouth opens.

Yeah, yeah, ADD, blah blah blah. I have it. It’s out there. Let’s move on. I can’t actually move on from it, but I deal. I’ve even learned to deal with humor. The most deprecating of all humors. It’s a huge ADD trait. I used to always chalk it up to the fact that my dad had a shit memory, and I inherited his. It’s a huge crapfest of frustration, nevertheless. However, there are times mid conversation where I do need to jump in a hole and escape to China, live life there for 18 months or so, fly back here, because the hole that I initially traveled through has probably eroded or deposed, in either case, utilizing the passport that I’m sure that I secured while I was living abroad because I’m such a pro-active pre-planner, I make my way back to the eternal sunshine, and still taking the chance that I would run into said person that I was initially humiliating myself in front of, I move my family 4 counties over and commute to my new job as a newsstand assistant in a deep porthole that has no wi-fi or land lines. That’s really the only way it works. I’ve had to do that a lot.

Anyone around me knows that I try REALLY hard. At work, I’m the newbie taking notes, drafting out the situation, creating a  Bible binder of word for word cross referencing materials to compensate for my struggling, stagnant and sputtering brainwaves. I wake up sometimes and say: “This is going to be a super smart, high-fiving kind of day, because “I GOT THIS!”  Well, usually things go scattering in the most opposite of directions, but you have to give me credit for my continuous ignorant clean slate. I lose credibility with myself and others every 43 seconds. I initially more than likely appear to people as: “Oh yeah, Tara has got her eggs in order!” (Not the female eggs, even though I would assume they’re dusty and destitute). And then slowly, but surely, the conversation starts to unravel. Suddenly, feeling a little cocky or too confident, which, oddly can sometimes happen, I will make the most inappropriate of comments, OR, I will ask a question that has already been ASKED and ANSWERED. That is really cerebral attorney speak, in case you were wondering. A downward spiral suddenly starts taking place, and what’s left of my brain activity takes the Nestea plunge into the Bermuda triangle.

My short term memory gets even worse when I am in a very stressful situation. At least, a situation that is stressful, deemed so by my self conscious, meek alter ego. I actually mentioned it in a previous blog posting, and if you would care to witness genius, check this out, and then go do something cerebral. Because, there’s nothing genius about my shit, but this post was pretty funny. For me, which is only one person, but still…Here’s the blog.  “The Socially Repelling and Wearisome Adventures of Captain Bland.”  It illustrates my debilitating fear of social interactions, but also features how bad my short term memory can be when it’s stress induced. Not good, my friends.

ST MEMORYI really HATE to be called “Absent Minded.”  This reference obviously comes from uneducated, unrestrained, two-bit pansy asses who I might get around to punching in the neck one day. If I wasn’t a huge procrastinator. Getting called THAT NAME really makes me question my entire existence, and throws what self confidence I do have into the distant portholes of New Jersey. But, I also couldn’t pass up this really funny article. Please excuse the title. Those people wouldn’t let me change it. If I would have gotten around to asking.  Here it is:


Here’s the shit that I constantly forget on a daily basis. I don’t think people fully grasp the fact that it BUGS THE CRAP OUT OF ME SO MUCH MORE THAN IT DOES YOU!  So, can we all please just try and be more understanding?  Plus, I can really use much fewer snarky comments in my life.

Easter Bunny/Santa/Tooth Fairy – Oh, my. My poor, poor children. This also includes the Elf on the Shelf.  WHICH I FREAKING LOVE. (Oh, did you happen to miss my blog about it? Well, luckily I will reference it for you right here)  It is very rough having a two-bit memory. I argue and mentally choke and scissor hold myself every day due to the exasperation that ensues. With that being said, I feel really sorry for my kids. The tooth fairy is probably the most mentally challenging phenomenon for someone in my predicament. 65% of the time, I am very good at remembering. Especially, when it’s the kids’ first few teeth that they have ever lost. Then, slowly, things become lax.  My son lost a tooth one night right before bedtime and he happened to be sleeping in the living room in his sleeping bag, as young folk sometimes do on the weekends.  The next morning, he runs upstairs and begins to excitedly (not the good excited) explain how the tooth fairy did not come and that there is nothing under his pillow. Now, it doesn’t take me long to go from a hero to a complete zilch (I think I got that reference right) and I find myself doing some serious back pedaling. “Honey, go check again! I’m sure you just didn’t look in all the right places.”  “And for no related reason whatsoever, can you please brush your teeth for 13 minutes, and then go outside and ask the neighbor across the street to borrow some Millbury Mollasses?”  That might buy me a few minutes.

My kids have written sooo many notes to these yahoos referenced above. I cringe when I see them being written. I even try to prepare them by saying things like: “Ooh, a note. I hope Santa doesn’t get too distracted by having to write you back and forgets to sit the rest of your toys under the tree.”   Because, really, setting someone up for disappointment is sometimes really your only way out.

Forgetting to put gas in my car until I am blinded from the bright infra-red glare of my gas light – No explanation needed.

Running back in the house every morning after I get in the car with my 3 armloads full of fun tricks. “Damn! Where’s my phone? Hold on, kids, be right back!”  Get back in car, get ready to put the car in gear: “Da-yum, where did I put my coffee cup? Hang tight, wee ones, Mommy has to run inside for a sec!”  Get back in car, looks back to reverse out of driveway, and an isolated thought crosses the lonely threshold of my brain: “Oh hell naw! Did I leave my lunch in the house?”  “Mommy, what’s Alzheimers?”

This is seriously how I look 99% of the time. If I do not have this look on my face, then I am just ignorantly forgetting about something that I will later remember that I forgot.
This is seriously how I look 99% of the time. If I do not have this look on my face, then I am just ignorantly forgetting about something that I will later remember that I forgot.

Having the same conversation with the same person more than once Some people are really nice about it. Most people are visibly distressed. The nice ones will offer up some thoughtful ways to politely jog my memory like: “Yes, and then you finally found your parakeet stowed away mindlessly in your lingerie drawer!”  I don’t know if that punch line would be funnier or not if I had either a parakeet or a lingerie anything… The crapjerkies will be a little more forceful and stern. “Oh my God. Please tell me this story again for the fourth time. I can’t wait. Let me go grab a cup of ice first so that I can thrust it upon my face in the event that I fall into yet another coma whilst listening to this mind numbingly fascinating tale.  Please continue.” 

Never being able to commit to memory the same duldrum shit that I do more than once every single day – Every night when I kiss my kids good night, or even go to wake them up in the mornings, I am faced on each of their walls with 2 sets of light fixtures, one that controls the fan, and one that controls the light.  It’s only been 2 3/4 years since we moved into this brand new house, so I’ll give myself a few more months to be able to get the two of them straight.  My kids are, luckily, used to the “click, click” noise that they inevitably hear each time I enter or leave their rooms, and they just end up rolling their eyes. Smart little suckers, already on to Mommy’s special shenanigans.

Dr. appointments – all I’m gonna say about this one is does anyone know the name of a good dr. about 70 miles away? I’ve just about run out of options with all the ones in my vicinity.  They’re all very touchy about the 7 or 8 missed appointments in my neck of the woods.

Losing everything – This particular facet of being ‘forgetful’ really is massively frustrating. I will lose the shit out of something. I can have something one second, be grasping it with my very own flesh, and then….It will vanish. The other day I had my sunglasses in my hand as me and the fam were headed to the pool. I bent down to help somebody with something, and then it happened. Glasses. Gone. Seriously, where could they be? How far could they have gotten? Right there on the sidewalk, I proceeded to do cavity checks (I will exaggerate any story for the sake of humor) and backpack checks, towel checks and cooler inspections. Glasses. Gone. Well, this really sucks for me since we are going to be in the Florida rays for 4 hours. Blasted memory!  At this point, I’m convinced that there is a conspiracy theory happening to just make me appear a whole lot dim-witted and a little bit crazy. Then I find the missing item stowed away in my tampon box that I never even brought with me in the first place, because, girl, it is H-O-T.


Forgetting what one hand is doing while holding something in the other – like when your hands are full and you throw your drink in the trash instead of the actual piece of trash. Happens to everyone you say? Not like it happens to me, people. Not like it happens to me. I am so talented that I also forget where I put something that I am holding, or if I’m trying to balance 47 things in one hand while I open the garage door with the other, while trying not to spill my 2 cups of Joe that I insist on bringing in the car with me every morning with my white shirt on and my poor fragile memory. “Dang, did I have a hot, steaming cup of coffee in that hand? Whoopsie!”


So, in a loosely cracked and fragile nutshell, my world is paved with good intentions. I know I constantly jack everything up, but do I get a medal for my attempts? I can’t remember.

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