The shit I forgot

Did you know about the earthquake in San Francisco?  1989.  I didn’t. Pork Chop told me. I was in California that year, in Los Angeles.  I wasn’t drunk.

But I had to have known at some point.  I just had to let this pass as one of those things…until I reread one of my short stories.  “Why, who’s this Ann?  Never heard of her before.  ‘Ann’?  I don’t know any ‘Ann’.  Oooh — aheheheee!  Guess I kinda forgot I named my character Ann!”

Then there was yesterday when I saw a friend who’s my age on Face Book.  “She’s hot for 49!  I ah, I’m 49, too?  Right?  Am I?  I was 48.  Can’t, remember – wait – shit. 2012, subtract 1962 carry the one – good Lord I am 49!”  I’ll be fucking fifty in November.  I will be 50.  Well.  Memory loss can be useful at times.

Not to worry.  I don’t believe I have dementia, only lack of sleep and some intense preoccupation.  Don’t be putting Auntie Sandee Sword-Chinned Bitch out to pasture yet for goodness sake!