Sometimes I find that I have dropped not just the ball, but the rest of the equipment and most of my clothes. I don’t want to make a drama about it, but it does seem to have been particularly theatre-related this year.
First there was the time that Boy Two and I headed off into the big city to see a show he had fancied for a long time. The first inkling that the smug dispensing of one-on-one quality wasn’t here to stay came with the parking. There was lots of it. Not a good sign.
My doubts were confirmed when, sure enough, the doors were locked and closer inspection of the tickets confirmed that the show was, in fact, the previous week. Sorry Boy Two.
Then the there was the time Super Gran and I bought our programmes, took our seats and settled in. Only on scrutinising the programme did it become apparent that the show we had tickets for was about to open half a mile away in the other theatre. A mad dash meant we did get there in time for curtain up, just. But it was an adrenaline jag I could have done without.
Then this week, I thought I was all set for the birthday celebrations of Boy One – culminating with tickets for a show. Asked when the show started I could find no evidence, none, not a scrap, that I had, in fact, bought the tickets I thought I had. I’m sure I could even remember picking our seats. No sign on my bank statement, or in email. I just hadn’t done it. As luck would have it, there were seats available which I did snap up with a huge sigh of relief. (Whereupon I noticed that the show was in a different theatre to the one I imagined it to be – but I won’t mention that cos I spotted it in time.)
Add to this numerous examples of completely forgetting conversations and plans – things I agreed to do. Making arrangements based on some magical reality that there are two parallel weeks where I can be in several places at once. And I’m finding this new (ish) found flakiness fairly frustrating. Then I discover that undoing or rearranging stuff takes even more time and energy than the activity in the first place.
I’m starting to worry that my brain is becoming holey in the manner of Emmental or honeycomb. Have I actually got four sons, or a daughter, that I’ve totally overlooked? Did I buy a other house and forget about it? Am I completely blanking people I’ve known for years?
I’m hoping the reason for this is that there’s simply far too much to do – currently 65 items in my to do list for today. Although most of these fall into two barrels – the one marked ‘things I’d like to do so I don’t die feeling like I’ve wasted all my potential’ and the one marked ‘shit I need to do for other people’.
Please tell me I’m not alone.