I lose things. I lose words, memories, a coherent sense of appointments. I write things down now, lest I forget. The last word I remember I lost was ‘bolster’. All my memory of language could supply was the word ‘coaster’. Not the same thing at all.

The other day I caught myself thinking about the Queen Mother as a ‘national treasure’ and had to remind myself that she’s dead. Eric Sykes, is he still alive? In dreams I constantly re-write which of my parents is living, if any. In waking moments I catch myself feeling guilty that I haven’t phoned my father lately. As though the lack of communication were a temporary slip of memory on my part. I get confused about parallel future realities in which I will both be ‘out’ and ‘in’ at the same time on the same day. I can switch between these views within hours, believing each to be true as I mentally prepare myself for their mutual incompatibilities.

I once had a whole conversation with a friend, during which I imagined her living in a first floor flat, when she had moved to a bungalow with a garden at least six months before. I’d even visited her in this new home. I have forgotten all the places I’ve been to in my life and there’s no one with whom to check back on these things.

I forget to write every day. I forgot just then something else that I was going to add to this list. I forget all the options that are available to me in life if I step away from habit for a while. I forget that I have reading glasses now and am consequently wondering why the words I’m trying to write look so blurred. I sometimes forget that I don’t own a car any more, and look out of the window expecting to see it down on Walcot Street. I forget that my father’s house isn’t ‘still there’ exactly as I didn’t leave it, with all the furniture and belongings back in the places where they stayed for decades. I forget the strain of dealing with every day. I make new stress to replace the struggle I was living a year ago. I forget how much has changed.

I wish I could forget the things I worry about rather than dealing with them, or better still I wish I could deal with them and then forget about them. I forget that I have had other lives and that I shall have other lives still. I’ve remembered the thing I forgot earlier and didn’t write down until it was too late, yet just a moment ago I forgot it again, so while I remember it now I’ll record it. Sometimes when I’m writing I forget entirely where I am, my surroundings could be anywhere. I forget, then I come back to where I am and I remember again. One day I will read this and have forgotten where I was when I wrote it.

Average Rating: 4.8 out of 5 based on 188 user reviews.

Proudly powered by WordPress. Theme developed with WordPress Theme Generator.
Copyright © . All rights reserved.