My birthday is about three weeks away and on that magical day (it’s always a magical day on my birthday, you just never knew why September 7th each year, it was a magical day), I shall have completed my 48th year of life. Birthdays aren’t like cable bills, you don’t get them in advance. On my 48th birthday, I will begin my 49th year. It’s like getting a bonus year of wisdom.
Or so you would think.
I have been noticing that the old gray matter just ain’t what she used to be. My memory has undergone serious and profound alterations. Heck, I barely recognize it . . . but that may just be yet another symptom . . . I don’t know . . . I can’t tell. Now, there is no risk [yet] that I’ll be wandering around the streets of South Yarmouth in my husband’s bathrobe, eating peanut butter out of the jar with my bare hands, wondering where I live, but I forget things. I never used to forget things.
I’m pretty sure my son thinks that he is destined to have to feed me baby food and introduce himself every time he sees me in the not-too-distant future. See, just about every day I ask Spencer what time he has to work tomorrow and he tells me and I say, “Okay.” Then the next day, I say “What time did you say you get off work?” And he tells me again. Then, later that same day, at 5:30pm, I go to pick him up from work and I text him to tell him I’m there. He texts me back to tell me he gets off at 6:15pm. This has happened so many more times than I am willing to admit in a public forum, that he is thinking of getting me a little notebook so I can write down notes, but he’s concerned that eventually he’ll be insulted because I’ll read a note and say to myself, “Why am I supposed to pick up this kid, Spencer?”
I feel it’s not so much that my memory is completely shot, it’s that my attention span has shortened to that of a gnat. I have enough other things on my mind all the time and I’m juggling information of which only I am the keeper, that when information hits me which I can easily access/confirm again later, I just don’t pay close enough attention to it to retain it.
Guess what? I’m right! (That’s not a big surprise, by the way.) I just read this great article about what happens to the “working memory” as we enter our 40s and 50s.
http://www.oprah.com/health/Midlife-Memory-Loss-How-to-Remember-More
In fact, even more proof of my shortened attention span is that I didn’t even read to the end of the article yet. I got halfway through and my mind jumped to, “I have to share this article with others! I’m going to post a link to it in my blog.” And here I am.
Note to self: Finish the article. Maybe it gives tips on how to get your working memory working and your attention span paying attention.
Evolution Happens . . . 