By Vicki Hughes         Posted March 21, 2013

My brain seems to be having a few issues. Perhaps it feels a little bit like my outdated laptop when I ask it to do way too many things at one time. It just sort of hiccups and misfires and needs a reboot. (Not Responding)

Last week I noticed it several times while I was showering. I wanted to cool the water off because it was too hot, so I immediately felt compelled to turn the cold water down, thereby scalding myself.  Bad hand! I meant colder, not hotter. Do what I mean, not what I say.

A couple nights ago I was trying to communicate with the fan in our bedroom. The spring weather in L.A. (Lower Alabama) means that one day you’re running the heat, and the next day you’re sweltering without the a/c on. I wasn’t about to go to bed without my trusty fan working it’s magic on a warm spring evening.

First, let me tell you, my fan has too many buttons. One turns it on and off, one adjusts the speed from Gnat’s Breath all the way to Hurricane Force, another tells it to oscillate or stand it’s ground, and yet another is a timer. I’ve never used the timer. That button is is dead to me. All I wanted to do was tell the fan to come on, and blow steadily on my glistening self, at a medium speed. I feel that is a reasonable request.

Except my brain kept telling my fingers, “On and oscillate. Nooooo. Wait. Don’t oscillate! Crap. Off. No! I mean ON. Oscillate. Are you kidding me?! You know I meant steady. Wait! What the hell am I doing?! ON. STEADY! STAY RIGHT THERE! Jeeze Louise, it’s hot in here!”

They need therapy for women who talk to electrical components. I can be their leader.

I also like to leave myself cryptic notes, both on scraps of paper, and on my phone calendar. “Get the drfl from C.” I look at it and think…”Drfl, drfl. Dog’s right front leg? Disgusting rat fink letters? Is C for Chelsey or Cyndi at work? Dare I call them and ask them if they know what a drfl is? No. It’s too risky. WHATEVER. If it’s important, someone will yell at me, and I will find a way to survive. Damned drfls.

I have been a little frustrated through the winter, over the disruption to my walking schedule, which I am slowly getting back to. However, I have soothed my guilty conscience with the fact that I walk several miles every day, going into rooms, only to realize I have no idea what I am doing in there. I get a workout huffing it back to wherever I started, hoping I have left myself some hieroglyphics about where I was headed before twelve things happened to interrupt my train of thought.

Check BB. Hey, I know that one. Bank balance. Yesssssss! Fist pump. Now if I can just remember to log on and pay that bill before a squirrel runs by and screws me over completely. Hey….where’s my pen?

© Vicki Hughes 2013