I looked at my iPhone calendar several times today and, excitedly thought about getting the haircut. Considered riding my scooter out to the salon and ordering from the pizza place afterwards, a special treat whenever I venture that far out on Mayfield Road.
I called my insurance agent, thinking about how I would be driving out there later today, right past the Nationwide office. The agent's name was Honor. I loved her name and began chatting. I flirted a bit with Honor. I thought about how that might make a good blog entry: Flirting with Honor. Flirting with Hope. Spent a second or two wondering if I could meet Honor, and how she might like me with my new haircut especially after catching a whiff of the Aveda Brilliant shampoo.
I cancelled another obligation after school to make sure I would be on time, knowing I could squeeze in the 5 o'clock haircut and another 7:30 meeting perfectly.
I wondered how much I should ask Laura to cut off -- maybe six weeks worth, even though it has been eight weeks since my last cut. I recorded the upcoming charge in checkbook, seventy five dollars. Recalled the last time the tip did not go through and reminded myself to make sure the total charge was as it should be later in the day.
I planned my pizza order: two square slices and a classic salad for 1-2 with blue cheese dressing.
Came home, started to mow the lawn, reminding myself that I needed to be on the road at 5:35 to make the 6 o'clock cut (Did you catch that? How the time had shifted in my brain from 5 to 6?)
I mowed. I moved the plastic nursery pots out to the curb for garbage night. I came in and sat down to catch up on some email. I watched a really moving graduation speech by David Foster Wallace, and even linked it with a share on my Facebook wall.
I checked the clock making sure I had plenty of time to make it out the congested road by six...how cute I would look with a new haircut...how I would send my dad a picture...how I better call the pizza place early because it is always crowded at 6...then, BAM, my brain reeled back in on itself and I realized that I was -- at that moment-- 23 minutes late for my five o'clock appointment. 5, 5! Not 6. God damn it.
I called and apologized and was given another appointment a couple weeks from now, but, I instantly and deeply sank into a sadness, the kind of which I have not felt in months.
Forgetting the keys, forgetting to lock my front door at night, forgetting to show up for a class when the schedule is shifted, forgetting where I put my iPad, forgetting to lead a birthday celebration at grade level meeting, forgetting a word, or the spelling of a word. Standing in the bedroom, wondering why I went there and what I needed to retrieve.
If I were ever going to be a contestant in a beauty pageant (just the thought of that has some of you laughing), I was going to have my talent be "leading a staff meeting" and when the commentators talked about me in the bikini and formal dress competitions, they would not talk about my stature or flowing gate. There would be no oo-ing and ah-ing about my skin tone or the Greek symmetry of my face. The judges would say, "Oh my, isn't that the most beautiful brain you have ever seen? The way it synthesizes ideas and generates new thoughts? I'd give that girl a solid 8.8 for that gray matter. Lordy, just look at her think."
I know some of you may dismiss this, say it is just part of aging or a sign of menopause. I get that, I even think it's true.
But it also might be something more. You know it, I know it. Every single one of you who is over 45 has considered the possibility of dementia infiltrating your life. Knocking over the memories with abandoned, taking away synaptic paths like a flood plowing through an arroyo.
I'm scared of this, deathly afraid of a life without a brain. Or part of a brain. Worse yet, just enough brain to know that my brain is deteriorating.
It's 6:16 now. The hair on my head is still flopping over my eyes. Underneath that mop of brown is a skull, and under that skull, a wondrous thing -- the best part of me -- that just happened to fail miserably today. I'm going to love that brain to death right now. Lay it down on a soft pillow, play it some calming music. Maybe James Taylor. Something old, part of me for 35 years. I am going to sing. Meditate. Pray a bit to a God who has far more important things to worry about. Then I'll sleep. Rest my sweet tired brain, hoping tomorrow it'll be ready to fire all day long. Such a faithful workhorse it has been. Stay with me, pal. I need you most of all.
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