Deterioration and Descent

                           Mostly, my plans are mental exercises I can use to see how far along the path of  brain problems I have advanced in  my race to geezerdom. I forget them, sometimes as soon as I make them.
             I  apply special forgetfulness to the things I don't want to do in the first place. I  probably have set records in that category, possibly world records..
        Then, I remember them, the plans, just in time to be late, too late, so I might look like I care and not get laced up for being me.
     There's when I have to "hurry" too. Hurrying for me entails foaming around like a giant rabid gopher, looking for keys and the directions, the kids, the car, my "in the car" CDs, my hat, my watch, my shoes, on and on, yelling about who moved all my stuff  and goddammit, motherfucker, shit shit shit.
       Jess likes to find a good seat to watch and laugh at me from. 
           Seldom, if ever, does she lose or forget anything.
         I've been suffering for years under this mental foggishness. I'm pretty sure it's getting worse.  Also now I can't fucking see anything anymore.  I keep planning to go get measured up for glasses but it's another plan so I forget to make the appointment until I have hit another milestone in blurry vision and claim I'm going down there tomorrow. I can't ever find my temporary glasses either so I stumble around blindly, yelling and complaining, until I find, sit or step on them. I have ten pairs of reading glasses, spread out from here to my sisters house.
            I have lost over two thousand and nine pairs of sunglasses and four thousand and twenty eight hats, respectively.
             Then, there's  when Jess tries to muscle in on the search. "'What are you looking for?" I don't answer anymore. It's a set up. I may not even know anymore by then. I just keep hunching around squinting at tables and counters.
           It's what I get, plus social security disability, for living so long.  Maybe my former propensity for large infusions of psychedelic substances is partially responsible. If so, I can assure you, it was worth it..
          Rope swings and baseball are out. Marathon sex is but a great cherished memory. Now, I get most of my exercise by  jumping to conclusions, pushing my agenda, casting aspersions, hurling insults, doubting veracity, staying away, denying involvement, weighing my options and running from the truth.
    I remember a lot about music and the "good old days"so I can still do all that.
     So, that's good.