One of the reasons I went to talk to my GP about my state of mental health a few weeks ago is that I have been doing things that are arguably out of character. At the time you tend to think what the hell is wrong with me? But now with a little distance between me and those things (although the best one was only last night) I feel I can look upon them fondly as one might look upon a giddy, slightly crazy Great Aunt.
It was whilst driving that I had my first concerns about my flakiness. I’d be cruising along and think, was that light red? Or, am I supposed to have any of the children with me? I began to worry that I’d forget a child one of these days. As silly as it may seem, my husband and I always do a kid count when we leave anywhere and I always check the back seat when I get out of the car.
Then there is the classic going to the supermarket for milk and coming back with $150 worth of groceries and no milk. In my own defence though, I reckon everyone does this, kids or not. It’s that blasted Gruen Transfer.
As for work, I have not yet forgotten any appointments, but I am playing a dangerous game of having two calendars – computer and paper. Its only a matter of time. Remembering to take my lunch is a daily challenge, remembering to eat it is another. Still on work, I have hung up the phone from conversations and opened my case notes to write the details down and for the life of me, 5 minutes later, I can’t remember who I just spoke to. Scary.
Two days ago I fell down the stairs at home. Carrying too much, looking one way, thinking of six other things and it was all too much for my poor feet, who had nowhere near as much of my brain attending to them as they needed at the time. No injuries other than my dignity.
Which brings me to the best, and most embarrassing. I like to consider myself a good, sensible, safe driver. And in another life, I was, I am. So let me preface this by saying it was almost 1 in the morning, I was tired, I’d been babysitting for a friend, and she has one of those really skinny streets where you can’t park on both sides of the road. And a letter box that is really hard to see in the dark. OK so I thought I’d just gone over the gutter and scraped the underside of the car. But no. I ran down my friend’s letterbox like a feral teenager. I don’t know how I managed this without so much as a scratch on our car, or even feeling it, but there you go. I am a vandal.