I Have the Dumb

Ever have one of those days where you seriously wonder if maybe you had a stroke during the night? Like, suddenly things you could do with little or no effort just yesterday completely baffle you today? Such as your job? Or walking?

Today is one of those days. There was a guy at my old job that had a sign up saying "I can't brain today. I have the dumb." I thought that was hysterical. Now I wonder if that was a serious cry constructed in a desperate attempt at communication using the last few operational brain cells he had available to him.

I fucked up before 9am more than most people fuck up all day. Co-workers seemed to be speaking to me in a foreign language, and no matter how hard I concentrated, I continued to do things like call someone by the wrong name or discuss with them a subject that had absolutely nothing to do with them, but in fact pertained to the person I was talking to ten minutes before when I couldn't remember why I called THEM. It's not even a delayed reaction thing. It's a no reaction thing. It's a "is this thing ON?" thing.

More annoying than alarming are the days when I seem, based on received data from the outside world, to no longer exist. I call them the "Oops, did I accidentally wear my invisible cloak today?" days. That's the day when people bump into you constantly as if you weren't even there, forget to call you back and sometimes run you over with their car while crossing the crosswalk (yes, that actually happened to me).

But even the threat of being hit by a car isn't as scary, to me, as losing my mind. And it's not the "where the hell did I put my keys?" kind of losing my mind. It's the "How do I turn on the computer again?" kind. It's the "oh shit, my husband is going to end up feeding me gruel in a home, and it will slobber down my chin and he'll have to scrape it up with a spoon and put it back in my mouth while my eyes wander aimlessly unfocused and in separate directions around the room," kind of losing my mind. Not that I tend to overreact or anything.

There's nothing more frightening then losing your mind and KNOWING it. If I didn't know I was losing my mind it would be a lot easier to deal with. Pleasant, even. When I was a kid I used to have to give piano recitals at nursing homes. Nursing homes are terrifying to anybody who has their wits about them. But the ones who didn't seemed happy enough. One guy, who appeared to have left his body long ago, as evidenced by the fact that he sat, chin on chest, unmoving, in his wheelchair for hours at a time, lifted his head one day and sang the entire lyrics to "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" for no apparent reason and completely on key. He seemed fairly content, wherever he was.

Sometimes I wonder if my prolonged brain farts might be due to too many drugs. But honestly, didn't everybody smoke pot? And I have friends who smoked way more than I did and they seem to be functioning fairly well. Meanwhile my 88-year-old grandmother has to remind me what we did the last time I visited her. She smoked pot only once in her whole life, as an adult, and claimed it had absolutely no effect on her while at the same time groping through the cupboard for another bag of chocolate chip cookies.

I am too young to be losing my mind. My mother has meticulously outlined a living will and described the subtle nuances of when to leave her be and when to pull the plug. And finally, as an aside, because it is still not legal to end one's own endless physical suffering, she asked very solemnly if, should she ever become a vegetable, I'd be willing to end it for her. "Sure," I said brightly. "I'll do it now, if you'd like." Hey, I'm nothing if not a loyal daughter.

My point is I am apparently losing my mind before either my mother or my grandmother, or at least seem to have misplaced it today. I haven't made any contingency plans, which is something I intend to address as soon as I can remember what a piece of paper looks like. In the meantime, I don't want to go into a home just yet. The day I think a nursing home is a great idea, or at the very least can't express otherwise, go right ahead and stick me in one. But until then, if I forget your name or strike up an animated conversation about what a great time it was to see you last night when in fact you haven't seen me in three years, saying to be sorry am I. Also if sense makes none for this column.