Forgetful

At least once a day I spend some time searching for something I have misplaced. Most recently, it was my checkbook. I worked myself into a state of panic, afraid I had left it somewhere in a public place. I remembered last having it at the bank. I put it down on the counter to fill out a deposit slip. Did I leave it there? Wouldn't the bank call me if they found it? Did someone pick it up and start writing checks in my name? I was ready to go to the bank to ask about it. As I was getting ready to go, I opened a dresser drawer, and there it was!

Earlier this week, when I realized August was almost over, I noticed also that my Visa card expires at the end of this month. Hadn't I received a new one? I had a vague memory of receiving it in the mail a while ago. I went through all my drawers and files and stacks of paper... no luck. I called the credit card customer service line and confessed that I can't find my new card. The very nice young man told me it had been mailed to me in June. I asked him if he could send me another one. He said they would have to cancel the one I had and open a whole new account with a new number. So, I had to change my account number on various places; Amazon, so I can buy books for my Kindle; iTunes so I can buy music, etc.

Being forgetful has become a way of life for me. We get so much "stuff" in the mail that it is impossible to keep track of it all. Too often I try out a recipe I see in a magazine, love it, then later can't remember which magazine it was in or how to find the magazine again. I have set up a filing system. I have a file cabinet with two drawers full of papers, plus a small one that I can carry around. Then I have two large wicker containers with plastic binders with recipes and other ideas. The overflow goes into plastic bins until I can sort through it. The whole system is so unwieldy that I find myself looking through everything to find a crucial piece of paper. I have one box full of mail from animal welfare charities, and another one full of mail from politicians requesting donations. Oh, and I have a huge box full of information about Social Security and Medicare. (When you turn a certain age, it begins to come in the mail like crazy... picture the scene in "Miracle on 34th Street" when they bring in all the Santa Claus mail and dump it in front of the judge trying Kris Kringle. "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus".)

I think I need a file clerk! Or a secretary! Or a personal assistant! Am I losing my mind?