Things that suck...

Getting old is so interesting. I am blessed in that I do not look my age, though I am not sure anymore what 62 should look like, anyway. And the real blessing is that I don't feel my age, either. I have just a tinge of arthritis, in my right thumb, probably as a result of jamming so many times in softball when I was a kid. Coordination has never visited me in any phase of this lifetime. And I get sciatica once in a while, probably a result of sitting crooked when I drive, which I seem to do a lot (got to get out there and wave at those cows, you know). I am an impatient person, and want to get going without paying attention to my posture, so HP gives me a pain in the butt to remind me. Sigh. What really irks me is this thing about forgetting stuff. I have gotten a lot better about noting the placement of my car in lots, and especially in that hella-huge parking garage that just opened at the college, but still can occasionally be seen wandering helplessly around pressing the red button on my keyless remote, with a dazed expression on my face. That is, if I can find my keys at all to get out to that parking lot. Lately, I have made a ritual of putting them, and my sunglasses, both of which are essential for walking out the front door, in a drawer in my little roll-top desk. That has worked really well. But then there's my cell phone. I use it seldom, and it tends to live in the car, where it rests perfectly in a little niche in the dashboard connected to the charger that goes into the cigarette lighter socket. Occasionally, I stick it in my bookbag, or my purse. When I went to look for it yesterday, it wasn't in any of those places. It also was not on the kitchen table, here on my (admittedly messy) desk, on top of my bedroom bureau, on the floor by the bed (where most lost things wind up), on the living room coffee table, or under the seats of the car. I always pray to St. Jude whenever I lose things, and he has been admirably efficient in that regard. I have only lost one thing that never returned to me in the 16 years I have adopted this practice. So, this morning, I made one more sweep of the area, then sat down to have a little talk with St. J, and it occured to me to check the pocket of my jean jacket, and voila! There it was. How sweet it is. Except it would be infinitely better if I could remember in the first place. Sigh.