The odd thing about the items that I regularly misplace is that they have not been misplaced at all. Most often, they are just where they ought to be. Their misplacement is an invention of my mind. I will suddenly become convinced that something is missing--my cellphone, for instance--and yet there it is on the table right in front of me. Why did I think it was missing?
Yesterday, I went to put my false upper teeth in, but found that they were not in the case on my bedroom dresser. Hmmm ... oh, well, of course not, for I then remembered having eaten earlier. So they must be on top of the bookcase. But no, they're not. By the laptop on the little table by the chair? Nope. Good Lord, I've lost my false teeth! I can find them nowhere. Oh ... wait ... they're in my mouth.
Three times in recent weeks, I have "lost" the keys to my motorbike. They are not in my pocket, therefore surely they have fallen out of my pocket. But how? Had I been standing on my head? Not to my recollection. But they are not in my pocket, which I have already searched perhaps fifteen times. Well then, they are on the floor under the table I have been sitting at. Wrong. They are on the floor somewhere in the Starbucks I am at. I proceed to employ the baristas in an effort to find my keys on the floor, for they seem not only to have fallen out of my pocket, but then crawled away somewhere. But no, this is not the case, either. Three times, I have found, after much panic and ado, that I had left them in my bike in the parking lot. Of course I had. Why had it taken me so long on three consecutive occasions, to discover the obvious?
Even when I know where things are, chances are that I will forget them anyway. It is as if the mere knowledge of where they are will cause them to do what is expected of them without further interaction on my part--that is, when I leave the house, they will leave the house with me--my laptop, my phone, my helmet, my raincoat and so on. Very often, what should be a simple matter--exiting the house and going somewhere else--will be a matter of returning to the door three or four times to retrieve each item one by one. Even so, I cannot count the times that I have discovered, a block or two from home, that something essential is missing from my head. My helmet.
Twice, I have arrived at Starbucks without my laptop--which is essential to the reason for coming to Starbucks in the first place--to write while enjoying a coffee.
These strange mental disconnects have become a part of my everyday life, just as present and as relentless as the neuropathic pain in my shoulder. One does not correct the disconnects by 'thinking harder' as many are inclined to advise, because the problem is in thinking itself. If a tire on a car is flat, one does not expect it to get better by driving farther or faster. There is a hiccough in my brain, a spasm in the synapses. A sparkplug misses firing. The fuel line is partially plugged.
I simply lurch on as best I can.
Yesterday, I went to put my false upper teeth in, but found that they were not in the case on my bedroom dresser. Hmmm ... oh, well, of course not, for I then remembered having eaten earlier. So they must be on top of the bookcase. But no, they're not. By the laptop on the little table by the chair? Nope. Good Lord, I've lost my false teeth! I can find them nowhere. Oh ... wait ... they're in my mouth.
Three times in recent weeks, I have "lost" the keys to my motorbike. They are not in my pocket, therefore surely they have fallen out of my pocket. But how? Had I been standing on my head? Not to my recollection. But they are not in my pocket, which I have already searched perhaps fifteen times. Well then, they are on the floor under the table I have been sitting at. Wrong. They are on the floor somewhere in the Starbucks I am at. I proceed to employ the baristas in an effort to find my keys on the floor, for they seem not only to have fallen out of my pocket, but then crawled away somewhere. But no, this is not the case, either. Three times, I have found, after much panic and ado, that I had left them in my bike in the parking lot. Of course I had. Why had it taken me so long on three consecutive occasions, to discover the obvious?
Even when I know where things are, chances are that I will forget them anyway. It is as if the mere knowledge of where they are will cause them to do what is expected of them without further interaction on my part--that is, when I leave the house, they will leave the house with me--my laptop, my phone, my helmet, my raincoat and so on. Very often, what should be a simple matter--exiting the house and going somewhere else--will be a matter of returning to the door three or four times to retrieve each item one by one. Even so, I cannot count the times that I have discovered, a block or two from home, that something essential is missing from my head. My helmet.
Twice, I have arrived at Starbucks without my laptop--which is essential to the reason for coming to Starbucks in the first place--to write while enjoying a coffee.
These strange mental disconnects have become a part of my everyday life, just as present and as relentless as the neuropathic pain in my shoulder. One does not correct the disconnects by 'thinking harder' as many are inclined to advise, because the problem is in thinking itself. If a tire on a car is flat, one does not expect it to get better by driving farther or faster. There is a hiccough in my brain, a spasm in the synapses. A sparkplug misses firing. The fuel line is partially plugged.
I simply lurch on as best I can.
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