A Wrinkle in my Memory

I was cleaning my bathroom this past week, and had just finished cleaning the glass on the shower door, the last step in my process. I had started putting away my cleaning supplies when I saw a streak on the glass, so reached into the trash to pull the damp paper towels back out to take care of the blemish.

The towels weren't there.

Nor were they anywhere else in the bathroom or the hall closet where I keep the cleaning supplies. They were also not in the just-cleaned toilet (*whew*), the laundry basket, or any of the other places I would have set them while putting things away.

It's been several days, and I still can't find them. And, believe me, I've looked.

Normally when I retrace my steps, I have a mental map of the things I just did. When I look at the map for those thirty seconds, instead of a path, there's a blot or a wrinkle. The knowledge of what I did is there, it's just not accessible.

This has happened before a couple of times, but by the time I realized it, enough time had passed it would have been impossible to retrace my steps anyways. This is the first time that I realized what had happened in time to (theoretically) straighten out the wrinkle. If I hadn't seen the streak on the glass, chances are good I'd never have noticed the paper towels weren't in the trash; I wouldn't be aware the blot exists.

I find this disconcerting, to say the least, especially given my frequent visits to Bob. Is this my first step on the path to his fate, or is it a normal part of aging?

Stop. Breathe.

There is no way to know the answer, and either way, it doesn't affect my life today. As it often does, my Libby lesson jumps to the fore of my mind. 

Today is the only day I have; tomorrow is promised to no one - so live the days I have.

I feel vulnerable, putting this blog entry out for the world to see. You mean !? I ?! am experiencing the effects of aging???? Yes, clearly, I am.

It would be easy to hide this memory glitch - the dog and cat were the only other ones here, and they're not talking. But in acknowledging the incident to you all, I acknowledge it to myself. And, in truth, I'd rather do that than keep my head firmly buried in the sand.

I'll keep looking for the towels, only because I can't imagine where else I might have stashed them. Fortunately for me, dried glass cleaner doesn't turn into a toxic mess.

Wish me luck.