Hear Me Out


June 10, 1997


I've been thirty for two weeks now and I'm already starting to experience pronounced memory lapses. To give you an example of what I'm talking about I'll tell you about the day I had today. Actually, today started last night when I was brushing my teeth.

Bill Cosby talked about loosing your memory and that some sort of stimuli resides in your butt because when you get up to get something in another room, you forget what you are going after by the time you get there and only remember when you go back and sit back down. For me my teeth are hooked up to my memory. So, I'm brushing away last night and I have three huge memory bursts right in a row. BAM BAM BAM

A memory burst is that rush that comes over you, almost blinding you, when you remember that you forgot to call your dad on his birthday. Oh, sure you remembered to call on the 6th but his birthday is on the 9th so that call really didn't count. It only proves that you are the twit he's always suspected you of being when you actually say a big "Happy Birthday, Dad!!" in the phone and he tells you are a few days early. That's bad enough but even with the embarrasing reminder I still,oh I mean you still forget to call on his actual birthday.

Second, I remembered that I'd forgotten to bring home the stuff that I was supposed to drop at a clients on my why home. So this morning I got up an hour earlier than usual and drove to the office to pick up the stuff and dropped it off at the clients and then went back to work. All in all it was a stupid way to start the day.

I don't remember what the third item was. It probably had something to do with jotting down my ideas on solving the whole nuclear power plant waste disposal problem. Oh well, it'll come to me.

One wek ago my memory was something I could count on but not anymore. Last weekend I bought three tickets for the Indigo Girls concert in Berkeley. I remember waiting in line, chatting about where to get a good hair cut and comparing tattoos with all the other lesbians in line. I bought the tickets - general seating- and went out to the car. That is the last time I saw them. The fact that don't know where the tickets are has been nagging at me.

I'm the kind of person that can tell you what I have in the refrigerator without looking and how many pairs of socks are on the living room floor. I thought I had such a great memory because I didn't judge what I saw. I simply remembered.

Sometimes I'd find Leslie wondering around the house, sniffling.

"What's wrong, babe?" I'd ask, always perceptive and curious about my lover's well being.

"I can't find my allergy medicine." She's blow her nose again and look even more miserable, if that were possible.

"Oh, it's under the futon couch in the office, I'll get it for you." And I'd fetch the bottle as Leslie cursed at me for knowing where the bottle was all this time but not moving it somewhere that she had a chance of finding it.

This evening I've spent about 3 hours looking around the house for these damned tickets. It would be the third time seeing them. Great band. Can you call two women with guitars a band? Leslie's sister, Leslie and I were going to go and be WOMEN. They put on a great show with lots of broken strings and broken hearts. I'm pretty sure some of the women in the audience think they actually have a chance of getting laid by one or both of the 'Girls. To this end, they throw flowers, phone numbers and underwear. It's going to be ESTROGEN FEST '97.

I just remembered the other thing I forgot yesterday and remembered last night. I forgot to write this article. Sorry it's late. Now, what was I talking about?


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Copyright 1997 by Laura Jiménez.

Updated 06/07/97
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