Things I Hate About Getting Older # 9: I'm Here, But Why?

The title is not a cosmic pondering of my existence, but the polite way of asking, when I leave one room with purpose and enter another with purpose, "Why the hell did I come in here? I know it was for some reason but I can't f#@%!+g* remember!" Sometimes it works to retrace my steps, but more often than not I still can't remember why I am standing there, in that room, at that moment. 

I feel like my brain is a sieve, and things just can't help but slip through the holes. I believe they are gone forever, not lurking somewhere in the recesses of my brain waiting to be discovered. They are just floating somewhere in the cosmos. The number one thing I would change about myself is my poor memory. I only have bits and pieces of my past in my retrievable memory to begin with, and as I get older I go farther into the darkness. Or is it that there is more to forget because I've lived longer? Thank god for photos, friends, relatives, and spouses with good memories (one of the five reasons I keep him around). Oh, and annual Christmas letters highlighting the year in a page (or two if you get mine).

*warning: I have a terrible mouth when frustrated. And on Saturdays and Sundays. And when I stub my toe or drink more than two shots of tequila. I don't really fucking care if you are offended.