Don't Get Old
I came back from the gym around 11am this morning after working out the muscle kinks from the half marathon I ran a few days ago. I felt refreshed and limber on this sunny, 60 degree October day. The agenda for the rest of the day was a visit from my parents. Our new den rug was arriving in a few days, and my Halloween costume was complete. Life was good. Then I checked my phone messages and realized something startling - my brain is a sieve.
I gasped as I listened to the message from the Vietnam Vets donations rep who informed me that the driver was in front of our house earlier that morning for the "Pickup" but no bags were out. With a pang in my gut, I shamefully realized I forgot to pack up the kids old clothes and leave them out on the driveway. Last time I did the home pickup they came at the end of the 8-5 window. Figures today they came early. Figures I forgot. But there's really no excuse, except that now I'm in my 40s and my brain turned into concrete practically overnight.
I even scheduled the pickup on my Outlook calendar -- in Orange -- with a reminder.
I put a note in my new desk organizer, under the little compartment that's labeled "To Do" but it was more like "Did Not" today. Perhaps I really need to schedule a lobotomy for next week.
Owning up to the fact that (gulp) we're getting older is a tough pill to swallow. I used to make mental to-do tasks and complete them swiftly and promptly, priding myself on not lugging around pesky lists. Do I blame this breakdown on too much red wine over the years (and my junior year abroad in the Netherlands)? Where did I go wrong? And now what do I do except to schedule another home pickup for next week. As a kid, I remember my dear Italian grandfather would jokingly warn my brother and I, "Don't Get Old." Now I know what he meant. Smart man. Maybe what I really need is that talking post-it note after all.
I gasped as I listened to the message from the Vietnam Vets donations rep who informed me that the driver was in front of our house earlier that morning for the "Pickup" but no bags were out. With a pang in my gut, I shamefully realized I forgot to pack up the kids old clothes and leave them out on the driveway. Last time I did the home pickup they came at the end of the 8-5 window. Figures today they came early. Figures I forgot. But there's really no excuse, except that now I'm in my 40s and my brain turned into concrete practically overnight.
I even scheduled the pickup on my Outlook calendar -- in Orange -- with a reminder.
I put a note in my new desk organizer, under the little compartment that's labeled "To Do" but it was more like "Did Not" today. Perhaps I really need to schedule a lobotomy for next week.
Owning up to the fact that (gulp) we're getting older is a tough pill to swallow. I used to make mental to-do tasks and complete them swiftly and promptly, priding myself on not lugging around pesky lists. Do I blame this breakdown on too much red wine over the years (and my junior year abroad in the Netherlands)? Where did I go wrong? And now what do I do except to schedule another home pickup for next week. As a kid, I remember my dear Italian grandfather would jokingly warn my brother and I, "Don't Get Old." Now I know what he meant. Smart man. Maybe what I really need is that talking post-it note after all.
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