News Update :
Sunday, November 22, 2015


I finished a book today.  I started reading it in September.

This is my life.  This is my brain.

I can read 6 books on vacation, but I can't finish a paragraph when I am at home.  There's always something else to do, something else to finish, or start, or sign, or make, or wash, or wipe.

My squirrelly attention span can barely focus on Soap Opera Digest, much less a plotline.

I used to love long reads. Deep dives. Vanity Fair type articles.  The Atlantic.  The New Yorker.  The Sunday NYT Magazine. Articles that were continued in other places, they were so long.

Parenting has made me a little bit stupid.

When I was pregnant, and nurses would compensate for the hot mess I'd become by smiling and saying that it's part of pregnancy.

That was supposed to be when they were on the inside.

I'm dumber now.

Mommy brain, I think is the clinical term, though I have to check where it lands in the DSM-5.

I don't turn the news on, because it's scary and depressing and children have remarkable hearing when something is not for their ears.

I don't read the paper because -- see above.

I don't have a commute so I can barely catch up on my favorite NPR shows - trying to sneak a half an hour in between when the boy leaves for school and the girl gets out of bed.  Or maybe when I am making dinner and no one is around.

But I get distracted easily.

So distracted.

I second guess whether I have taken my blood pressure medicine in the morning, or whether I am just remembering taking it yesterday morning.

I have to set alarms on my phone to remember to go feed my parents' cat when they're not home.  Or my best friend's dog.  Best of intentions.  But dumb.

Why did I come in here?

When I was little, I was convinced that there was a little person in my head who sat at a desk and managed all of my mental inventory.  Little filing cabinets surrounded the space and cataloged everything.

There might have been a flood.  There's definitely been some water damage up there.

Now that I think about it, the clinical term for my issue is called CRS.  Can't Remember Shit.

I think.

I think I already wrote something about this once before.

But seriously, I can't remember.

Copyright © 2016 The Queen of the Earth All Right Reserved