I Forget

Whoa, it’s been a month, and not one word. It’s not like my world has stopped because Sean’s killers’ trial is over. It’s not like I stopped breathing because nothing excites me. In fact, just last week I was working out thoughts sprinting around in my mind about my life coming full circle. Too bad I didn’t write it down. Can’t for the life of me remember what it was about. Not even what inspired the wandering thoughts that I was trying to solidify into one coherent piece of work.

That kind of forgetfulness used to worry me. In the past I thought it was the first sign of the onset of Alzheimer. AARP, sweet souls that they are, convinced me that I just have a lot on my mind, vulnerable to distraction – but not to the state of mental disorder. Whew!

One would think that, being a writer, I would write my thoughts into a journal or something. Well this writer only types. My aversion to handwriting dates back to my high school days practicing shorthand. I wrote those symbols every single night for hours, for three years, determined to be the fastest at taking dictation, grooming myself to be the most perfect secretary. For a kid out of the projects, that was high ambition. For a black female, that was probably the highest of ambitions short of becoming a teacher or nurse.

Luckily for me I’m a boomer baby. The sixties told me that I could achieve anything my mind conceived. No holds barred. If that sentiment was directed at only white kids, I missed the joke. I was a believer. Hell, we stopped the war, beat de facto segregation, burned the bra, legalized birth control, ensured our own orgasms, defied gender role employment, single parented by choice (okay, so I blew that), chanted with raised fists “Mgowa, Black Power,” wore slacks and dangling earrings to work, straightened my hair, napped up my hair, and then cut it off. Ha! I’ve been wearing my hair platinum for years – just because. No tattoos, though – that’s still sucky.

Much to my financial relief, personal computers and software development came into being. I pursued a computing career to access a modicum of healthy American wealth. I’m now considered a veteran information technology specialist. I work for a public agency in which my computer title earned me a very good salary, and my pension and health benefits are lifetime. I won’t be eating cat food to make ends meet when I retire. I’m a financially independent black female! Who would’ve thought?

You males my age – don’t start commenting to my blogs. You’re searching for a nurse or a purse. I’m neither. Frankly, I’m what is referred to as a Cougar. Uh huh, I like the younger ones. They can keep up with me. Yeah!

Oh well, this stream of thought didn’t shake up and out that Full Circle of Life piece that used to flip around, but instead flopped, in my mind.

Next!