Several weeks ago I got really upset about how I was forgetting things more than usual. I know everyone forgets occasionally, and I know we all joke about "Where the hell did I leave my short term memory!" We all walk into a room and forget why we came in there in the first place. Damn! That is so frustrating! But for me, the strokes I experienced have always made me more sensitive and afraid that I am losing more of my memory than I already have.
I make myself keep careful notes and lists so that I have a reminder handy. You know me; I love lists anyway. I tell Sam where I put things so that someone else will know. That helps a bit. He and the boys make light of it. "No big deal," they say. Oldest son will even tease me about my memory. "I think it's funny, Mom. I can tell you the same joke I told you last week because you will never remember the punch line." He figures if he can make me smile, it will make me realize that it just doesn't make that much difference.
But I get very down on myself. How can I remember anything when I can't even remember where I put the lists?! When I do stupid things like that, I can even feel like crying - just like after the strokes.
When Sam came home for lunch that day, I was mad at myself and stomping around looking for some important notes I had lost. I whined to Sam, and he said not to worry. They would turn up eventually. That little platitude just pissed me off, but I dutifully gave him a kiss before he returned to work, and he gave me a big, bear hug and a smile.
I did not spend the entire afternoon searching, but between errands and miscellaneous tasks, I would wrack my brain and look again in all the places I had already looked. They had to be somewhere! Talk about a dog with a bone. I just could not let it go.
Sam walked in before 5:00 pm, and I always meet him at the door if I am at home. It was a long and lovely kiss, but very soon I was whining again. My frustration was such that there were even tears welling up. Sam smiled and reassured me with big hugs, but I kept whining even to the point of talking over him. That was when I crossed the line.
My pants were down in a flash, and I was bent over the kitchen counter. He did not reach for a wooden spoon, but OMG his hand is enough when he wants it to be! The spanking would not have
It's a masterpiece!"
I think he wanted to be complimented on his study in red.
I would tell you where I finally found
my stack of notes and papers,
but I can't remember.