Visiting with my brother last night, I commented “you know, one of the main problems about me being single is that I think, left to my own devices, I could become very peculiar”. More elaborately, I think what I meant was that I would not NOTICE how peculiar I was becoming, and there would be no one who knew me well enough to know the difference and to give me a heads-up on my impending mental hilarity.
I seriously worry about losing my marbles one day. I’m a little peculiar to begin with, I know, you don’t have to tell me, although I would often argue that it’s not me, baby, it’s society that’s messed up. I know a lot of people crazier than me, in ways that are far less whimsical, dangerous, and frankly a little scary. I love the whimsy, I embrace the eccentricity. Even a little gentle weirdness is okay. But still. It starts.
I’ve never had a really good memory. I can tell you one or two lines from pretty much any song I’ve ever heard, but recite one all the way through? Not. Learning poetry by rote, or lines for a play? Nothing stays up there. On the upside, I can enjoy the same book over and over, because unless it’s pretty uniquely spectacular, I won’t remember the plot. Whodunnit? I don’t know. Nor can I remember people’s names, although I am strangely proficient at recognizing faces, and I can read people pretty well. That may be an occupational thing, though. But who’s that actor? No idea. Where are my keys?
A lot of things I simply intuit; things I couldn’t possibly know. #1 son says it’s scary, that it’s a Cancer thing, a freakish universal connection. I don’t know how I know stuff, I just know.
Words have often escaped me, and menopause has made it worse. I struggle at times to find easy, common words, especially nouns. They hide behind the junk in my mental attic. I’ll be thinking of two words at once to describe something, like “nice” and “spiffy”, and it comes out “niffy”. So many words and names are right on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t make that essential connection and spit them out.
But how will it happen, when I lose my mind? And will I be the same? Will I be understood when I have only my brain-welded portmanteau words? Will I even notice when it starts to happen in earnest? Will it be frustrating, or a blessed relief? Will I have anyone who is close enough to me to notice subtle changes? Will I stop recognizing even faces one day? I fear becoming a stranger to people I’ve always known, and worry that I won’t even miss them, because I won’t remember them. Connect, connect, connect. Keep reaching out, keep interacting, stay active in body and mind.
Sometimes, as an introvert, it’s a real struggle to get out there and face potential rejection – from anybody. Even people I don’t like. Sometimes the risk seems hardly worth it. I go in cycles. I stopped going to my knitting group, which I love, for several weeks, not because of any slight or irritation, but because I just could NOT bring myself to interact with anyone during that time. They’re all lovely people. It’s not you, babies, it’s ME. It’s hard to shove through, plug in, and connect myself at times, but if I don’t, I think I’ll lose it rather sooner than later.
*sigh* I don’t even think this makes any sense, even when I write it down.