Have I told you about my condition?

You know that movie, Memento? You remember the main character, who couldn’t convert his short-term memories into anything more permanent?

That’s me, just one step removed.

My memory has never been anything to write home about, but this is taking it to a whole different level. Yesterday Marin gave me an envelope and asked me to pass it off to our office manager, once she got off the phone. I’d turn around—so the envelope was out of sight—and then completely forgot about it. I even said “goodnight” to the intended recipient as she headed out the door for the evening.

Or, today I was supposed to call Toys R Us to have them hold two copies of Soul Calibur III for Brian and myself. Hah! It wasn’t until the end of the work day, when I was telling Marin about how I’d be going to Albany to pick up a copy of Soul Calibur III, that I realized my error.

Take those two examples, and imagine several days chock full of events like them. Unless I have some contextual clue that I need to do something, odds are that it won’t get done. I’m living my days out in a state of permanent, total distraction.

Even the stuff I do “remember” doesn’t get done: projects at work, summaries of my trip to Japan, cleaning my room, the book I’m reading (why I bother reading—I don’t retain much of anything anything, mind you—is beyond me) all lie half-done.

I did go to the ballroom dance practice this evening, though, and was rewarded with a major boost to my spirits. I enjoyed watching the “samba line” performed by Charles, Nihal, Ashley and Britta (they’re planning to infiltrate the U of O dance this weekend, and intend to perform this samba line for the first half of a samba—breaking out their actual samba during the second half of the dance), and enjoyed even more watching everyone else be amused by the samba line. Janis and I shared a cha-cha that devolved into a west-coast swing (Janis also enjoyed commenting on how I’d comment on the music, but never actually dance); I managed to make Robin laugh during the last waltz, which is somewhat unusual… We’re always glad to see each other, but we rarely have much to talk about.

 

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