For a while now I’ve been lamenting my memory; it’s not what it once was. Details and dates are long forgotten. So is anything that doesn’t make my phone, including engagements in my calendar and items on the grocery list.
It doesn’t matter if I mutter “milk” to myself twenty-five times between the store’s entrance and produce. By the time I’ve made it to the dairy department, muttering has ceased along with my recollection to buy milk. If a text message comes across my screen during this time, or any time that I’m multi-tasking, it could take days for me to respond.
As if general life stuff, you know, like groceries and texts aren’t enough, there’s Miller’s school. It’s been in session for a month and a half now, and still, not a week goes by when I remember everything that’s supposed to go in with him.
Box tops that were in the car seat next to me? Forgotten. Because I didn’t glance over and see them.
Canned goods for the local food drive? It’s not until I see boxes of donations in the hallway that I remember ours. Sitting in the back of my car. Despite the reminder in my phone. Because I forgot to check the calendar.
And then there’s Miller’s lunch. God bless it his lunch. Somehow making it still isn’t etched into my morning routine. All I can say is thank goodness we live three minutes from school.
So then please explain this to me:
Yesterday morning I was waiting for the printer and opened Instagram. The first thing in my feed was a meme from a sex coach in Los Angeles. I’ve never met this woman, and I don’t remember how I came to follow her (thank you, memory). Regardless, I love her and her work.
When I saw her meme headlined “Name Your Pussy” you know full well I took the ten seconds to determine mine.
Succulent Magic Puppy
Apparently my succulent magic puppy is both a pussy and a puppy. Conflicting? Perhaps. Funny? Absolutely.
Some time later that morning, I was on the toilet of all things and thought, “Succulent Magic Puppy” followed promptly by, What the fuck. Why is THAT what I remember?!
I ran this story by my brother and sister-in-law. After determining her vagina’s and his mangina’s names (priorities, people) we discussed memory. Like me, the random stuff with zero bearing on life is what sticks with Troy.
Heather suspects having our heads full with so much more these days thanks to kids and responsibility in general plays a role. I agree. I also can’t help but wonder if the phone – the item I rely on for memory assistance – is actually working against me.
Okay, fine, it’s not the phone’s fault I check it so frequently and so mindlessly. Like when I’m brushing my teeth and pull up the weather. Or when I’m walking across the room and check my email. Or when I’m waiting for the printer and click on Instagram.
This constant access of information – perpetual checking, reading, scrolling – is using up precious space in my brain stores. I’m becoming convinced of it.
Succulent Magic Puppy
A group of female activists will be speaking in Chicago this November. I text a friend last night about going with me, and she said yes. This morning I ran it by Mark who gave me a funny look. Dude is blessed with an uncanny ability to remember. As in, he keeps no calendar and no running list of groceries. He’d cram for med school exams the night before. It all exists solely in his mind.
Never once has he forgotten the milk.
At the exact time the Chicago event begins, I’ll be at 30,000 feet flying home from Florida. In this instance, I had checked my calendar for conflicts. Since I hadn’t added the trip, it didn’t exist, in my phone or in my mind. Apologies to my friend, and also…
Succulent Magic Puppy.
I’m making efforts to look at my phone less. To focus on the task at hand without reading that Facebook comment or looking to see who messaged me. Even during something as simple as brushing my teeth. I like to think it’s helping, but it’s probably too soon to tell.
Today probably won’t be the last time I forget Miller’s lunch, and I’m guessing I’ll once again make it home without milk. I am human, after all. In the meantime, Succulent Magic Puppy has become a bit of a joke.
When I do remember things – like grabbing a check to pay my nail gal or buying a birthday card for my nephew – I’ve started saying something to myself. You guessed it. “Succulent Magic Puppy.” It offers both a laugh and a celebration.
For as much as forgetting rankles me, I don’t want to put all of my focus there. Let’s not call more forgetting into our lives. Instead, I want to celebrate remembering. Even if it’s something as silly and small as the “name” of my vag.
If you’re interested in naming your own
crotch memory celebrations, here’s the meme.