Lessons in forgetting
Recently, I have become so preoccupied, that I’m a laugh riot. It is increasingly difficult to convert my thoughts into tasks. Am I getting mixed up in my head? I am not always absent-minded, sometimes I am worse. My presence of mind is frequently absent.
The definition of being absent-minded is “deep in thought and heedless of present circumstance or activities.” Well, that’s me. I’m going to tell you why. The other day I had guests at my place. I offered them a cup of tea and whilst they were having it, I noticed a few grimaces. They left without any comments. When I went back to the kitchen with the dirty cups, I noticed the salt container on my kitchen slab. Alas! Instead of sugar, I had added rock salt to their tea. Could I get any worse?
I know that the human brain has two hemispheres, the right side and the left. In my right, there is nothing left and in my left, there is nothing right. Earlier, when I saw people talking to themselves, I used to think that I must never become like that. Now I realise, never say ‘never’.
Not having your wits about you can be pretty embarrassing, as I discovered first hand. A fortnight ago, I was in a hurry to finish my household chores and get to work. I was sipping my coffee, whipping up an omelette and frying the chapattis simultaneously. It made me feel very in control. Multitasking!
Can you guess what followed? You got me. I poured the coffee in the pan and sipped the well beaten eggs. Brain drained. Would it be correct to say that confusion has confused my mind?
There are times I stand in front of the fridge and don’t know whether I have come to put something in or take it out? When I wake up in the middle of the night, I wonder if I am going to sleep or getting up. I recall the words of Ogden Nash: “Do you think my mind is maturing late or simply rotted early?”
They say that getting older, everything gets worse — except forgetfulness — that gets better. My years were swallowed by a whirlwind marriage and children. Now my husband and children have bestowed me with an honourary degree of being the Absent-minded Professor. Wool gathering! I could make a career of it.
Am I sane? They say that only the sane question their sanity. Thank God for that. Could I continue the illusion of normalcy a little while longer? When my day is over, I know it has contributed to my ageing, but the plus point is that I don’t remember. According to the noted Lebanese philosopher Kahlil Gibran, forgetfulness is a form of freedom.
Forgetfulness? What was I saying?